#WHO KNOWS WHAT VERY SAD THINGS ARE LURKING IN THE NEXT PAGES

[sxtvrns]

to reunite and resolve

🎶 now playing: don’t grow up too fast - grentperez

P: Connor Murphy x Fem!Reader

S: You were the one of the only people he called a friend. He wanted to call you more than that.

W: mentions of drug use, smoking, anxiety, cursing, sexual content, spoilers, short

N: Basing this off of Mike Faist’s Connor Murphy, because his version of Connor the one I envisioned while writing this. Some information is taken from the book adaptation of the musical. In the book, Connor explains that he is some form of LGBTQ+, yet it is never specified; hints of this are being used in this fic. this is super short and kinda shit LMAO

please interact if you enjoy!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When he first threw that printer in second grade, you were the first thing he saw out of the corner of his eye. Everyone… well, almost everyone, looked at him in horror, screams so loud they could be heard from down the hall, besides Jared Kleinman, who said that the whole facade was so cool.

Some kids ran, some kids took cover, but you stood there with your mouth hanging open, gaze switching between Mrs. G and Connor. And to think the only reason for this was because he didn’t get to be line leader that day.

He couldn’t tell what you thought of him after that. There wasn’t a single thought behind your face that could determine whether you thought he was cool or you thought he was insane. But he resorted to the worst— you thinking he was a crazy maniac who had a breakdown only because he didn’t get what he wanted that day.

But no, that wasn’t the case. He sat down under a tree during recess one day, and you just so happened to be lurking on the other side of it. You peeked out, looking at the book he was reading. “Is that The Little Prince?” You ask, startling him. “Yeah. Why?”

“It was a bit sad, but I liked it. Which part are you on?”

“The part where he dies.”

Awkward.

“I’ve read this book 5 times.”

“So it’s your favourite?” He shrugs. “One of them.” You sit down next to him, eyes skimming over the words on the page. “I don’t like Mrs. G very much. She always finds something wrong in my work and points it out to the class,” you start, staring at Mrs. G who’s talking to a teacher far across the playground. “I don’t think you should do it again, but I thought that was cool.”

“What was cool?”

“When you threw that printer. Was it heavy?” He shakes his head. “You’re strong! That’s even cooler!”

He shuts his book with a quiet thump. “Shouldn’t you be talking to Lily over there? Or… Jane?” You shrug. “I don’t really have a group of friends. I talk to them and we’re friendly with each other, but… they don’t like the things I like. I don’t know– it seems like on some days they don’t like me and then other days they do. Maybe I’m just scared of that.”

“You’re lucky the printer didn’t hit Mrs. G. You’re even luckier you didn’t get in big trouble. I think that you were angry and you didn’t mean to hurt anyone.” He’s surprised by how well you manage to read him. He didn’t even know how he felt himself. It was an overwhelming feeling of rage that any six year old would have when things didn’t go their way, just that he approached it in a way that no one would believe a six year old would be able to do.

“Do you wanna see the books I’m reading later? You can borrow them if you’d like.” Connor looks at you and that stupid hopeful expression on your face, reluctantly nodding. He wasn’t one to turn down a read. He’d gotten sick of the rose hunting prince anyways.

Most kids in your class would rather go for the toys and playmat while the library picked up dust. Connor watched you every time you went to the little library in your room to pick up a book, always leaning over to see what you were reading. You seemed like one of the only avid readers in your class, not dozing off or merely flipping pages for convenience during silent reading. You really took your time in absorbing what was on the pages; sometimes he witnessed you even shed a tear.

From there, the two of you became good friends. Every partner project, you two would pair up. Every gym class, you’d be on the same team. If anything involved pairs, it would always be the two of you together, to the point where people started joking that you two were dating. Of course, you always brushed it off, but Connor seemed to think otherwise.

At the time, he couldn’t put his finger on what exactly he felt about you. He felt safe, happy, content. He also felt compassionate, open, and endearing. But years later, only when he went to Hanover and was in his first relationship, dealing with a multitude of emotional troubles, was when he realized what those feelings were.

Connor’s head rested on Miguel’s chest as he exhaled a puff of smoke. “She read a lot, sometimes I went over to her place, she always stayed by my side even thought she was made fun of, we’d trade lunches–“ He’s cut off by the sound of his friend chuckling. “Wow, you must’ve really liked her.”

“Huh?”

“I mean, I don’t think I’ve heard any guy in our entire school talk about a girl… not sexually.”

“That’s because we were in elementary. I wasn’t perverted.”

“Still, you blabber about her with such purity. Like a girl you really did love, even if you only were in the seventh grade. She seems nice. If you ever find her again, you should introduce her to me.” In the words that Miguel put it in, he was finally able to understand why he got so much more nervous around you. Why he’d scold himself for doing something moronic in front of you, unless that something made you laugh; he’d let out an internal sigh of relief.

Why he tended to defend you if someone teased you. Why he’d freeze up when your arm would brush against his. Why he’d always overthink about what you thought of him, knowing that you’d never leave his side. Instead, he left yours. He could see the hurt in your eyes after he told you he was moving schools and it almost made him want to stay just for you.

But knowing his parents, they wouldn’t understand why he’d change his mind so last minute.

Sometimes he didn’t understand why you stayed by his side. He knew you were somewhat of a fragile person, but watched you desensitize to those comments over the years.

Connor feels guilty talking about an old undetermined crush with a boy he was on indefinite terms with, but Miguel didn’t seem to mind. “I guess I did like her.” He squeezes Miguel’s hand, suddenly overwhelmed with disappointment. “And now I’ll never be able to see her again.”

“Didn’t you say you went to her place for projects and stuff? Couldn’t you pay her a visit?”

“What if she moved?”

Miguel scoffs. “Highly doubt it. What comes here, stays here.”

The suggestion played on loop in Connor’s head every day, even contemplating actually paying a visit. Yet he never owned up to it, until he was expelled and moved to a new school. Again.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You rest your head on the desk, ignoring the homework reminders being given to the class. You stare blankly at the teacher through your hair, another boy coming into view that you hadn’t seen before.

His hair was brown, curly, and nearly reached his shoulders. He had defining cheekbones and painted nails, dark clothes and a messenger bag. A new student. A new student that you couldn’t help but think looked familiar to you, until you heard his name.

Connor Murphy.

He sat down in front of you, putting his bag to the side and kicking it under his desk. You wanted to talk to him, but it seemed like he didn’t recognize you either. Was it really him? The Connor Murphy who you sat under trees with, reading books and arguing about your favourite characters? The Connor Murphy who barely passed 4th grade?

“Connor…” You mutter a bit too loud, his head turned to side eye you. “What?” He replies, almost aggressively, his stare dark and hardening. You couldn’t believe it was him. But really, how many other Connor Murphy’s could there be in suburban New York?

He begins to turn away until you begin speaking. “Do you still read The Little Prince?” This time, he fully turns to you, eyes wide and no longer dull. “How many times have you read it since I’ve talked to you under that tree?” You smile, and Connor swears his heart stops. Out of pure shock, not attraction.

“Y/N?” He asks, and you nod, his face lighting up with a small smile. “Holy shit…” He sighs, his reaction making you giggle.

You’ve changed. You stopped tying your hair up, you gained a pair of dark circles, and he could just feel maturity radiating from you somehow. At least, you were more mature than he was.

“Um, I don’t really have anyone to hang out with during lunch. Do you wanna catch up then?” You offer, his head tilting. “Why not now? Instead of working on that project of yours.” Your face drops. “There’s a project?” What project was he talking about? Was it– oh, it was the role model one. You finished it already.

“Lucky you don’t have to do it. If we present, we get extra credit. I’m not up for humiliation though.” He turns around fully, and your eyes are drawn to his hands, slim and a bit veiny. He adorned a bracelet and his nail polish was black. He played with his fingers almost nervously, his hands on your desk. “What have you been up to?”

“I picked up guitar. Um, I do some vocal stuff outside of school.”

“Like performances?”

You nod. “Different genres. Jazz, pop, R&B… I’m in a few groups.” He nods. “I didn’t know you could sing.”

“I never showed off when we were younger. I’ve been taking lessons for a while.”

“Maybe you could show me later. Y’know, outside of school.” He quips with a hoping smile. “Are you flirting with me, Murphy?” You ask, leaning forward slightly, his eyes moving from your chest back to your eyes. “Maybe.” You scoff, shoving away his face. “You’re a pervert now?” You laugh, but his smile slowly begins to disappear.

“Oh, I was joking, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that– I mean, no one’s perverted to their childhood best friend right?” You awkwardly laugh while he sighs. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to look at you like that.”

“Like what?”

“Y/N, I was staring at your boobs.”

“Like a pervert?”

“For fuck’s sake, L/N, I am not a pervert.”

“Never said you were.”

You were provoking him. If it was another person doing the same thing, he’d have their head. Thrown something at them or given them a black eye. With you, it was all natural humour and jokes. He could brush it off without the need for bruising. The worst part was that you didn’t know you were aggravating him, with your cheeky smile and mischievous gaze.

Later that day, during lunch, you catch Connor off guard, leaning against a tree in the back of the school grounds where no one was, blowing out smoke. He tended to find solace in places where it was quiet and mostly alone. In high school, it was hard to find that kind of privacy, so you thought he’d be away and in the back where no one hung out, besides the drug dealers and porn magazine sellers.

“You smoke now?” You ask, him inhaling and letting out another puff. “I started a while ago. Keeps me sane.” He pulls it away from his mouth, contemplating. “I was gonna offer you some but, you sing now. I guess that comes in conflict.” How sweet of him to be so considerate. “Yeah. Wouldn’t wanna try it either way.”

You pause for a moment, watching him discard the joint. “How was Hanover?” You ask, a rush of memories overwhelming him all at once. “It was a fresh start. I liked it. I, um, made out with a dude? I don’t know, it was complicated.” You certainly didn’t expect that. “You had a boyfriend, then?”

“I dunno, we never specified on it. Complicated relationship.”

“How about girlfriends?” You hear him scoff. “You really think a guy that went to an all boys school would find a girlfriend?” You shrug, standing beside him. “I thought it was common for all boys and all girls schools to collaborate or host events together.”

“I don’t know if there were any collaborating events. I always skipped. Speaking of skipping, would you like to join me on a trip to Burger King instead of going to fifth and sixth?” You shouldn’t be surprised he’s skipping classes. He always joked about doing so in elementary, yet it never crossed your mind to contemplate if he was actually going to do so. “Unlike you, I actually care about my grades. You can come over if you’d like.”

“After years you still expect me to know the address?” He jokes. “I haven’t moved. I’ll text you.” You pull out your phone, opening your contacts app and letting him type in his number. He set his contact name as ‘C’, with a cigarette emoji next to it. “If you ever call me and that name pops up on my phone while I’m with my dad, he is going to kill me. Thinking I have a dealer or something.”

“Well, if you need anything, you know where to find me.”

You text him the address, not seeing him for the rest of the school day. He frequently skipped classes, except for the classes you two had together. He came over many times, your dad eventually meeting him when he wasn’t rushing out the door for work.

Only… one particular visit caused something to happen with reasons unknown.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You open the window, lighting some scented candles you found in the closet. Connor looked at his joint, inspecting it carefully, instead tossing it somewhere in his bag rather than lighting it, laying face up on your bed with a sigh.

The first time he was in your room, the first thing he asked was:

“Why the fuck is there sheet music everywhere?”

Which surprised you at first, mostly because you didn’t think he’d know what it was in the first place. He’d always smoke, mostly out the window, and you’d drench your room in air freshener afterwards so your dad wouldn’t know.

Connor was a very touchy person, especially when he was high. Sometimes he’d rest his head on your shoulder, his breath smelling of weed. Or on your lap, where his hair sometimes got trapped between your thighs. A hand on your leg, or on your thigh. You didn’t think of it at first, because it was Connor.

Though he took touchy to an extreme one day.

“Have you kissed anyone yet? Y’know, while I haven’t seen you.” You look up at him from your paper, amused. “Why are you asking?” He shakes his head, turning over and looking at you. “Oh, no, just wondering. So is that a no?” You sigh with a silent laugh. “No, I haven’t kissed anyone, Connor.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

“So you’re a virgin, then?”

“Connor, where is this coming from?”

“Do you know about the jocks constantly rambling about all the girls they have sex with?” He ignores your question with another question. “Yeah. It’s fucking annoying.” You scoff with a breathy laugh, taking a sip from your bottle. “You know they talk about you, right?”

You nearly spit out your water, saving the drops that fall from your mouth from falling onto your shorts. “Excuse me?” You say after swallowing. “Yeah. It’s all, ‘Bet 10 bucks I can bang her’ while they point at you. Or they go, ‘Jesus, wonder how much she can take’.”

“So I’m being objectified?” He nods slowly, looking up at you through his messy hair. “Unfortunately, yes. Want me to do something?”

“If it results in you getting suspended, no.”

“You sure? Those guys are dicks.”

“They’ll never believe us without any proof. And your reputation is bad enough already. I don’t want you to fall any more because of me.”

“Y/N, I’ll do anything for you.”

Those words make you pause and reflect. Was he high? No, because he tossed his joint in his bag anywhere. Even then, Connor would never say that for anyone. It seemed so out of character for him that you almost laughed.

“Are you high?”

“What?”

“I know damn well you wouldn’t do anything for anyone.”

“Y/N, I’m serious.” His gaze is stern, dark, and hard but also eager, glossy and hopeful. “I don’t know, maybe it is the weed I smoked twelve hours ago, but you’re really pretty. Sometimes I wonder how I managed to become friends with someone like you.”

“Someone like me?”

“Someone so pretty that doesn’t give a fuck about the fact I do drugs or the shit I’m dealing with. I really like you, Y/N. Always have. You didn’t single me out, you never left my side— you’re the one person in my fucked up life that makes me feel like I belong. That I matter.” Your childhood best friend, who’s now sitting up with a hand on your thigh, just confessed his undying love to you.

And you had to admit, the more you two started to hang out and reconnect, the more you started to develop something of an attraction to him. He never smiled at anyone but you, he didn’t push you away or glare at you; it was like he had a soft spot just for you, and it made you like him even more.

“I hope you aren’t gonna fuck me over. Y’know, if you don’t like me back.” His finger traces patterns on your thigh, the way his hand unknowingly rides up making your brain go haywire. “I’m… I, uh– I’m not.” He looks at you, for some reason, disappointed. “Should’ve known you didn’t. Forget this ever happened, then.”

“No, no! I like you! I really do like you, Connor. You’re charming and handsome and…” You hear him huff out a laugh, his face closing in on yours. “I know no one else thinks of me like that but you. You’re obsessed with me.”

“Could say the same for you, Murphy.”

His head tilts, his nose touching yours. “Wanna kiss you.” He mutters. You simply nod, inviting. “Okay.” You reply. He presses his lips to yours, feeling full and complete the moment you two meet. He can sense your confusion at first, but you managed to learn how to move with him quickly. Perks of being a fast learner.

He hovers on top of you on your bed, admiring you when he pulls away. His eyes shamelessly trail down from your face, to your chest, your stomach, your legs, his face cupped in your hands and pulling him towards you to kiss him again.

His tongue slipped into your mouth, the mood instantly erotic.

His hands are all over you. The back of your head, your shoulders, your waist, your hips, your thighs; he placed them wherever he could push you closer to him. When his mouth follows his hands to descend to your neck, you let out a soft whimper, panicking when you barely catch sight of the door.

“W-Wait.” You pant, nudging Connor for him to move to the side. You scramble off your bed, closing the window and the curtain and turning off the lights, going for the doorknob. “Thought you said your dad wasn’t home.” Connor says as you lock the door. “Never know when he will be.”

When you join him on the bed, his hands at the hem of your shirt, you stop him with a touch on his wrist. “Um, I don’t…”

“Oh, shit, did I go too far? I’m sorry–“

“No, no! I want it, I really do, but… you know...” He realized how nervous you were, remembering you haven’t done anything like this before. He gives you a gentle kiss on your forehead, tucking your hair behind your ear. “You know I have. You trust me?” He asks, giving you doe eyes you’ve never seen before. You nod, emitting a chuckle from him. “Let me take care of you then.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Sex was one thing. Having sex with your best friend is another.

It’s either your dad stayed at work all night or he’s in grave danger, given you haven’t heard him scream out of pure horror, then yell at you first thing in the morning. You woke up unbothered, naked, and held by your best friend. Unless this whole thing changed your relationship.

Were you even friends anymore? Was this a friends with benefits thing now? But he practically confessed to you yesterday, unless he was high. But he didn’t smoke anything, and the room doesn’t smell that bad…

One thing is for sure: Connor Murphy knows how to fuck.

Maybe it was the fact that you were a complete virgin or that you did whatever he asked you to, but you swear you could still feel how you felt last night when he was in you.

Your head rests on his arm, wrapping around you and holding you close to him. The ends of his hair touch your own head, and you blow them out of the way. You can feel him move, and he groans, meaning you woke him up. You lean into him more, feeling his fingers lightly brush your side. You feel his head turn, his hair moving from your head.

“Hi.” He says, peering down at you. You look up at him, noticing his gaze. “Hi.”

He plants a kiss on your forehead, his fingers moving to brush through your hair. “I think I passed out after.” You say, hearing him chuckle. “You did. When I came back to clean up, you were nearly snoring.”

“Oh god, I snore?”

“Loudly.”

He notices you going silent, immediately worried. “I was just joking! Well, kind of, you snore, but not loudly. Not like a dad snore.” You giggle into the side of his arm, followed by a brief moment of silence. “What are we now?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t think friends confess their undying love for each other and tie it off with sex.”

He pauses, hearing quiet hums come from his mouth. “Can I be your boyfriend, then?” He feels you nod against his arm while you hum in response. “Yeah.” You get out from under the covers, going to stand up until a brief pain shoots up your legs.

Memories of the night before suddenly come rushing in. “Fuck those jocks, I’m the only one who can see you like this.” He said, after making a mess of you with only his fingers.

He really fucked you good last night.

You curse under your breath, legs weak as you stare at the scattered clothes on the ground, tossing your own into the laundry basket by your door. You grab a new change, turning around and noticing Connor staring at you the whole time, an expression you can’t make out.

“I was that good? Your legs are shaking.” You roll your eyes and throw his shirt at him after putting on a pair of shorts. “Shut up. A real boyfriend would help me and not make fun of me.” He fake pouts, getting out of bed and putting on his own clothes.

You turn on the TV downstairs, the morning news playing and showing the date as Friday.

Friday.

Shit.

You’re beyond late.

“Turns out there was a gas leak so there’s no school. That works out great for us.” Connor says as if he could read your mind. You hear the garage door open, meaning your dad had just come home from work. He enters the room, seeing both of you standing by the kitchen counter.

“Shouldn’t you two be at school?” Is the first thing your dad says, eyeing both of you. “Cancelled. Gas leak.” You feel Connor’s hand rest at your hip, wanting to swat it away but knowing your dad already saw it just by the look on his face. “Did he use protection? I know you’re on those pills, but–“

“Oh my god, yes, he did, look– can we talk about this later?” Your dad shrugs and nods before heading for the stairs, hearing Connor laugh beside you. “How did he know?” You panic, placing toast on both your plates. “Maybe he saw your legs shaking from there.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

You glare at him, giving him a brief kiss before bringing both your plates to the table. He quite literally does as you say, keeping quiet the entire time he eats his breakfast.

You should do that more often.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You knew that Connor was a very mischievous person. He always has been.

He’d skip classes, casually threaten people as if it were nothing, smoke weed; he nearly flushed firecrackers down a toilet once. He didn’t go through with it because you told him not to.

He was also mischievous in terms of your relationship.

He let you leave hickeys wherever you saw fit, in places visible and invisible. You were more wary of it. He showed them off proudly; well, not really proudly, he just didn’t mind if people saw or stared at him with hanging jaws. He couldn’t be bothered to cover them— the only time he did care was when his family would point them out.

He’d sneak out and go to your place frequently; he always preferred your house over his, mostly because he felt like he had a parent he could actually tolerate (and love). If your dad were to ever barge in, he’d stare at Connor, then at you, then at Connor’s bag, and ask if he had protection before leaving and closing the door. Connor always said yes.

It was also a convenient reminder for you to lock your door anytime Connor was in your room, since most of the time nights would always end in sex.

You fumbled for your keys to unlock the front door, Connor’s lips on yours when you stumbled inside. You didn’t notice a bunch of men in the living room, including your dad, holding beer bottles and staring at you until you saw them out of the corner of your eye. “Welcome back. How was the party?” Your dad asks, as if he didn’t see the escapade between you and your boyfriend.

“It was shhh– It sucked. Yeah. It sucked. Hi.” You mutter the last part, eyes quickly dashing over everyone who’s attention is taken away from the game on the TV. “Um, we’re just gonna… yeah.” You drag Connor with you out of their sight and upstairs.

“Does he have–“

“Yes!”

You slam your door shut, locking it, seeing Connor visibly nervous. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Was the party too much?”

“A little bit. And then… your dad’s friends just staring at us. I don’t know– anxiety? This is a stupid thing to be worried about.” You sit down next to him, hugging him while rubbing his back. “Don’t worry about them, okay? They’ve probably done the same when they were younger.”

You feel him sigh into your shoulder, his voice muffled.

“Thank you.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

don’t grow up too fast. don’t leave me in the past. as long as you never change who you are, i know in your heart i’m never far. 🎧

#connor murphy #connor murphy x reader #dear evan hansen #dear evan hansen musical #mike faist #fanfiction

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Darkness Declares Glory | Chapter 9 | S.R

Previous Chapter

A/N - this fic deals with some very dark themes such as drug use, self-harm and suicidal ideation. Please proceed with caution and Minors DNI. There is a reader insert but it is very Spencer-centric.

Chapter Summary - George offers Spencer some words of advice as they grow closer. A familiar face from his past surfaces but things don’t go as Spencer anticipated.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - dark angst | smut | eventual happy ending.

Warnings - Spencer’s wrongly directed anger, suicidal thoughts, past drug addiction, flirty nurse, aggression, threatening behaviour, mentions of bisexual Spencer, tears, suicidal ideation, Garcia’s flashback, vomit.

WC - 4.9k

Chapter 9 - Don't You Dare Forget the Sun

He had a long time to think about Maggie’s words as he was left alone for the rest of the day. His only interaction came in the form of an orderly bringing his lunch and then later dinner. 

He wasn’t sure if it was in protest or just not being hungry, but Spencer didn’t eat a thing. Instead he slowly pulled apart his food and made a game out of throwing it at the wall. He enjoyed the mess it made. 

Once the sun had gone down he slipped out of bed and hopped to the desk before opening his journal. He stared at the next blank page for some time, but when he did start writing, the words flowed. 

I’ll never forgive her for this. I’ll never be able to look at her the same. It’s her fault I’m here, she made the call, she got the judge to sign the preventive confinement order. 

I hate her for doing this to me. I hate all of them for doing this to me. It’s doing more harm than good, I can feel it…I can feel it slowly destroying me. 

If I can’t get my hands on those drugs I will find a way to kill myself. I’ll think of something…I’ll formulate a plan one way or another. It’s drugs or death. 

If she’s gotten her hands on this it’s because I couldn’t get the drugs and I’m already dead. And I hope she knows this is all her fucking fault. I hope she takes the guilt to her own grave.

In putting me in here, she basically signed my death warrant. So I hope for as long as she lives, she hates herself for what she’s done. I hope it’s her that has to explain to Henry and Michael and little Hank why Uncle Spencer isn’t around anymore. 

I hope it’s her that has to tell my mom what happened to me, explain all the grisly details of how they found me with my throat slashed or hanging from the rafters from a noose I made out of bed sheets. 

I hope the team falls apart. I hope every single one of them carry my death on their shoulders for the rest of their days. 

I hope if you’re reading this, you know you’re the one that really killed me, Emily Prentiss. 

***  

His night was spent mostly staring at the same ceiling, unable to give over to sleep. He was already awake the next morning when he heard the trolleys being wheeled down the corridors and the nurses skirting from room to room.

He knew it was George who entered his room without tearing his eyes away from the ceiling. He had a distinctive smelling aftershave and it wafted straight to Spencer’s nose. 

“I hear I should be thankful I wasn’t on the morning shift yesterday.” He spoke as he wheeled the trolley towards Spencer’s bed. 

“News of my breakdown travels fast.” He sighed, looking at George now. 

“You scared the crap out of poor Linda.” George picked up the medicine cup and a cup of water before handing them to Spencer. 

“It wasn’t intentional. I just…you wouldn’t get it.” He necked the pills and downed some water. 

“Try me.” George narrowed his eyes on him. 

Spencer heaved a sigh and pulled his hands up the sleeves of his sweater. 

“Unless you’ve been where I am, you wouldn’t understand.” 

George looked around the room momentarily as though he expected someone to be lurking in the shadows. When he looked back at Spencer his eyes were a little sad. 

“I have been where you are.” 

“What?” Spencer frowned.

“I mean not in that exact bed at this exact facility. But I was…I guess I am a drug addict.” He shrugged. 

“I’m confused.” Spencer’s frown deepened.

“I’ve been sober for thirteen years. I was just a kid when I started taking drugs. My boyfriend at the time was older than me and a huge junkie. I started using recreationally to seem cool around his friends. Then it got out of hand. By the time we broke up he left me with a broken heart and a pretty bad cocaine addiction.” 

Spencer’s eyes widened as he consumed George’s words. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t think of anything to say. So George continued. 

“I voluntarily checked myself into a facility. Getting clean was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. But I did do it. I got clean and I went to nursing school and now I dedicate my life to helping those like me.” He offered Spencer a sympathetic smile.

“It isn’t triggering? Working here and being around addicts?” 

“Quite the opposite actually. I find it cathartic.”

“I don’t know that I can do this, George. I don’t think I can get clean. I was sober for over ten years and I was so quick to give it up. I can have a good day but then in an instant it’s like I’m back at square one all over again.” Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. 

“Healing isn’t linear, Spencer.” George sighed a little. “Sometimes you have to take two steps forward and one step back on the road to recovery. Sometimes it’s two steps forward and five back. You’ll have good days, great days even. But you’ll also have the worst days of your life. But I can tell you with absolute certainty that it is worth it in the end. 

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to say without a shadow of a doubt that I won’t ever touch drugs again. Nothing in this life is certain. But I can say for a fact that I don’t want to do drugs today. And I probably won’t tomorrow or next week or even next month. The thing with addiction is you just have to take each day as it comes, as you know. But you can’t expect to just get better overnight.” 

“You should be a therapist.” Spencer found himself smiling. 

“I can’t deal with listening to people whine about their problems.” George laughed. 

The sound was infectious enough to make Spencer laugh too, for the first time in a really long time. 

“Fair enough.” Spencer nodded, feeling lighter than he had done since he woke up in this place. 

“I should uh…” George pointed over his shoulder to the door. “You have got to stop monopolising my time, Doctor. Just because you’re cute, doesn’t mean you can have me all to yourself.”

Spencer’s cheeks instantly flushed pink and buried himself further down in his sheet to try and hide his embarrassment. He watched George leave, sending Spencer a wink before he closed and locked the door behind him. 

And goddamn if it weren’t for you constantly on his mind, he might have let himself fall for the dreamy nurse. 

***

He was brought his breakfast by an orderly but he just moved the food around his plate with the plastic fork without eating any. 

When the door opened again he assumed it would be the same orderly collecting his tray and was surprised when Doctor Delaney strolled in the room. 

“How are you feeling?” He didn’t seem amused, he was frustrated if anything. 

“Not great.” Spencer admitted. 

“You terrified nurse Linda.” Delaney folded his arms not trying to hide his annoyance. 

“So I’ve heard.” Spencer rolled his eyes. 

“You’re going to go and take a shower and then it’s time for group therapy.” 

“Pass.” Spencer folded his arms to mirror him. 

“Excuse me?” Delaney raised an eyebrow at him. 

“I said pass. I don’t want to get up. I don’t want to shower and I don’t want to go to group therapy. So I’m not.” 

“You can’t spend all day in your room.”

“I did yesterday.” Spencer shrugged. 

“Because you couldn’t be trusted around other people after your outburst.” 

“Maybe I still can’t be.” Spencer unfolded his arms, picked up the plastic fork and stabbed it hard into a piece of bacon. “Do you want to take that risk?” 

Delaney exhaled loudly through his nose.

“You’re a lot calmer than you were yesterday. I think it would prevalent to all involved that you-“

“Here’s the deal.” Spencer cut him off by shoving his tray of food on the floor, the sound clattering around the small room. “You make me leave this bed today and I will not be held accountable for my actions. I will strangle you with my bare hands just to get hold of a key to the medicine cabinet so I can get high. Does that sound calm to you?” 

Delaney narrowed his eyes before scoffing and shaking his head. 

“You’re only ruining your own life, Spencer. If you don’t want help then that’s fine by me. But if you threaten me or any of my staff again, I will turn you over to the cops.” Delaney spat at him, knowing it wasn’t at all professional and then fled the room before he said something he might regret. 

As he locked the door behind him he heard Spencer screaming at the top of his lungs. Some people were beyond help. Maybe Spencer was one of them. 

***

Spencer’s combination of medications made him inconceivably tired and he found himself sleeping through most of the day. He wasn’t sure if he was happy or not that it had been dreamless. 

A part of him wanted to see your face even if only in his dreams. But now you were starting to fade from his memory it scared him every time he saw you. 

This was the longest he’d been sober in years. He thought if anything his memories would be clearer once his mind was less foggy but it seemed to be having the opposite effect. He couldn’t lose you from his memories. He would break entirely if he lost all his recollections of you. He had to convince someone to call you. He had to see you no matter the cost. 

He snaked his arms up the sleeves of his sweater under the sheet and wrapped them around himself. He rolled his head to the side on the pillow and was startled by a pair of icy blue eyes staring back at him.

“Who’s Y/N?” George smiled at him from where was sitting in the chair at the desk. 

Spencer pulled his arms out from under the sheet and rubbed his eyes. 

“What are you doing here? Where’s your scrubs?” He croaked.

“I got off shift a little while ago, thought I’d come check on you.” George shrugged. 

“You’ve been watching me sleep? You do realise that’s incredibly creepy don’t you?” 

“Who’s Y/N?” He avoided the question. “You were mumbling the name in your sleep.” 

“Something you wouldn’t know if you weren’t watching me sleep.” Spencer scoffed. “She’s my ex-girlfriend.” 

“Ah.” George pulled a face. “I always crush on the straight guys.” 

“Should you be telling me that?” Spencer couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“Probably not but I don’t think you’ll tell anyone.” George smiled at him and it was a very nice smile. 

“And I’m not necessarily…straight. I’m…something.” Spencer shook his head. 

“You’ve slept with men?” George smirked, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“Seems like an inappropriate question coming from my nurse, but…yes. I have been with men and women.” Spencer laughed again. 

“So there’s hope for me yet?” George teased. 

“I mean if this emaciated, drug addict look is your thing…?” Spencer rolled his eyes.

“I told you, my ex was a junkie. Guess I have a type.” George’s eyes sparkled playfully. 

“Is it weird if I say I’m kind of flattered?” Spencer frowned. “I did not expect someone to find me attractive like this.” 

“Well, I do.” George shrugged. “Which is kind of why I’m here.” 

Spencer’s eyes widened and he hugged himself tighter. 

“I uh…I don’t think we should…”

“Not that.” George laughed, standing up from the chair. “You think I’ve come here to get into your pants while you're trying to recover from a drug addiction? Please, I have morals.” 

“Oh.” Spencer frowned again. “What did you mean then?” 

George came to his bedside and smiled softly at him. 

“I came to tell you that because I am attracted to you, I have requested a floor change. I’m not going to be giving out meds on this floor anymore. I think it’s for the best.” 

“Oh.” Spencer pouted. “That’s…that’s a shame.” 

“I can’t fall for another addict.” George took a step back. 

“Fair enough.” Spencer nodded. “Thank you for being honest with me.” 

“You’re welcome.” George shrugged. “I should be getting off. I have two very hungry cats at home and if I’m late there will be hell to pay.” 

“Ok.” Spencer didn’t know what else to say. 

George backed towards the door and he reached it and opened it with one hand behind his back. He kept his eyes on Spencer and smiled wistfully. 

“I hope you beat this Doctor Reid. I really hope you do.” He stepped out into the corridor. 

“Me too.” Spencer admitted out loud. 

He watched George close the door and lock it behind him. 

He really meant it. Spencer really did want to beat this. He fought it so hard because it was easier being a drug addict than actually dealing with his trauma. But he did want to get better. He wanted to get clean and he wanted to be ok again. It wasn’t going to be easy, he knew that. But he had a new found determination that he was going to get better. 

When another orderly brought him his dinner a little while later he asked to see a doctor. He wasn’t even a little surprised it wasn’t Delaney that came to his room. 

He convinced the doctor to help him into his chair and wheel him to the right place. Thankfully he met little opposition from the new doctor who’s name he forgot, and he was taken to his destination. 

Once inside the room with the door closed behind him, Spencer broke out into fits of sobs. He sobbed into his hands, loudly whining and whimpering as he got it out of his system. His whole body wracked with the weight of it all. His small frame shuddered from his sobs that he seemed to have been holding in for a lifetime. 

He cried so much his eyes were sore and his nose was completely blocked. His sleeves were drenched with tears and snot but he didn’t seem to notice, let alone care. He cried for several long minutes before he forced himself to stop. There would be time for tears later. 

He wiped his eyes on his sleeves before looking up. His bottom lip quivered as he looked her in the eye and squeaked, “I want to get better. And I want you to help me.” 

Maggie smiled softly at him, nodding her head. 

“Of course, Spencer. Of course I’ll help you.” 

***

Three days passed and Spencer went about his new routine with surprisingly little resistance. That’s not to say he was thriving, not yet at least. But he hoped he’d get there. 

Group therapy was by far his least favourite activity of the day. He was still reluctant to open up to Cedric and the group and when he did speak he usually kept it unemotional, facts rather than feelings. 

His sessions with Maggie were much more preferable although still difficult. They’d started as she suggested in his childhood and discussed his fathers leaving and his mothers illness at great lengths. They moved on to his life as a child prodigy and to Spencer’s surprise they’d started unpacking a lot from that time. 

Spencer had never really dwelled much on the pressure being so intelligent had put on his shoulders. Even when he joined the BAU, he was mostly just a prize for Gideon to show off, his walking talking know-it-all. He’d never realised how much that had affected his mental well-being, or how much of an intense burden it was to be so smart at such a young age. 

She’d made him see that because of his intelligence he’d been more aware of all the bad in his life. Most ten years old wouldn’t have been so impressed upon by their fathers abandonment. But because Spencer was smarter than the average ten year old he’d been more conscious of what was happening. The same could be said for his mothers illness. 

In their session today they’d started to unpack the stresses and strains of a twenty two year old genius joining the FBI. 

Therapy exhausted Spencer mentally. PT exhausted him physically. But he could now take tentative steps with the aid of crutches, even if it had pained him tremendously to do so. Nick advised using the wheelchair where he could but said as long as he was careful he was happy for Spencer to try using the crutches to get about. 

He still craved drugs and he knew that wasn’t going to change any time soon and his medication was yet to make an impact. But he was trying. It was going to be an uphill battle but he was really trying. 

It was Tuesday which meant it was visitation day. It was a sunny afternoon and his new doctor, who he’d learnt was called Doctor Sanderson, suggested having his visitor meet him in the courtyard. 

Spencer used his crutches to get from his room to the garden area and found his guest at a bench next to some rose bushes. When he saw the back of her head he picked up his speed, almost tripping on the crutches in his excitement. 

“Garcia!” He called her name as he approached and she turned to face him.

The minute she laid eyes on him she started crying instantly. 

“Boy wonder!” She screeched, jumping up and almost tackling him in a hug. “Oh my gosh I missed you so very, very much!” 

“I missed you too.” He couldn’t hug her back as he was gripping his crutches but he nuzzled his face in her neck so she knew he was trying. 

She pulled back and looked him up and down, her face contorting into an expression of sadness. 

“Oh Spencer, look at you.”

“I know.” He nodded. “It’s not ideal.” 

“Come, sit down.” She motioned him to the bench and he hobbled behind her on his crutches before falling to the bench rather unceremoniously.

Garcia plastered her practiced smile back on and reached next to her, producing a Tupperware pot full of cookies. 

“For me?” Spencer’s eyes lit up slightly. 

“As long as you don’t mind sharing.” Garcia popped the lid and let Spencer help himself to one of the chocolate chip discs of heaven.

He took a large bite and hummed around a mouthful.

“Holy crap this is the best thing I’ve eaten in…a long time.” 

“Good huh?” Garcia took a bite of her own. “I made them with Henry and Michael. Michael said to make sure you know he sprinkled it with extra love.” 

Spencer’s eyes immediately glistened with tears. 

“Tell him I can taste it.” He sniffed. 

“Also they drew you pictures. They couldn’t wait until JJ came to see you for you to have them.” She picked up the stack of childrens drawings and handed them to Spencer while he finished the cookie and helped himself to another. 

“These will certainly brighten up my room.” He smiled a little sadly. “Thank them for me.” 

“Oh I most certainly will.” She smiled at him but it faltered. “How are you?” 

“I honestly don’t know. It's hard, being here, being sober. It’s hard to open up when I’ve spent so much of my life shutting down. It’s a struggle every day. But I do want to get better.” Spencer gave her a tight lipped smile. 

“You had me worried sick.” She nibbled on her cookie. “I thought you were going to die.” 

Spencer sighed and chewed on his lip. 

“I wanted to die. I know that’s not what you want to hear but if being in this place is teaching me anything it’s that I need to be honest. And the truth is I wanted to die.” 

Garcia pouted her bright pink lip and put the half eaten cookie back in the container. She turned her body towards Spencer and gently placed her hand on his shoulder. 

“Do you still feel that way?” Her voice cracked a little.

“Honestly, sometimes. I think it’s going to be a while until I don’t feel that way.” 

“Oh Spencer.” She squeezed his shoulder. “I should have done more to help you.” 

“Don’t say that, Penelope. I pushed you away, I haven’t seen any of you in so long you couldn’t have known…” he trailed off when Garcia’s expression changed. “What is it?”

“I saw you…seven, maybe eight months ago.” A tear rolled from her eye under the thick rim of her purple glasses.

“You did?” Spencer frowned. 

“Yes.” She sniffed dramatically. “I was on my way home from work and this new Thai place had opened down the street and I thought boy genius loves Thai food, I wonder if he’d like some. So I brought some food over.”

“And I was high.” Spencer filled in the blanks. 

“You were a mess…”

She tottered up the stairs on her too high heels, balancing take out containers in her arms with a smile on her face. It had been so long since she’d last seen Spencer and she couldn’t wait to see the look on the good doctor's face when she showed up with his favourite cuisine. 

But when she reached the top of the stairs, she immediately dropped every single one of the containers on the floor. 

“Spencer!” She shrieked, running as fast as her heels would carry her to his door. 

Spencer was slumped on the floor, his back to his apartment door, head bowed and eyes closed. There was a puddle of vomit next to him on the floor. 

“Spencer! Oh my god Spencer! Are you breathing? Please tell me you’re breathing!” She fell to her knees, gripping his jaw to pull his head back and pressing her fingers on her other hand to the pulse point on his neck. 

She breathed a sigh of relief when she felt his pulse, albeit a thready one.

“Spencer! Boy wonder! Can you hear me?” Grabbing him by the shoulders she gave him a firm shake. 

His body was limp like a rag doll for a moment and then suddenly he stiffened and his eyes shot open.

“Huh?” He blinked a few times trying to focus. 

“Spence, it’s me, Penelope. Can you hear me?” 

“Y-yes.” He nodded. “What are you doing here? Where are we?” 

“Outside your apartment G-Man. What are you doing here?” She helped him to his feet and he wobbled a little before leaning against the wall for support.

She saw the cogs turning in his head for a moment before he nodded to himself.

“I locked myself out. I lost my keys.” 

Garcia looked around but it didn’t take her long to see his set of keys dangling from the lock in the door.

“Those keys?” She frowned, pointing at them. 

Spencer rubbed his eyes with his palms and blinked again before smiling dumbly. 

“My keys!” He cheered. “What would I do without you Garcia?” 

He pushed himself away from the wall but stumbled and Garcia quickly steadied him. 

“Let’s get you inside.” With one hand she balanced Spencer and unlocked the door with the other. 

“What happened? Spence? Where have you…”

“Y/N?”

“Sorry?” Garcia snapped out of her story and looked at Spencer who was staring off across the courtyard. 

“I thought I saw…” he shook his head and looked back at her. “Sorry, carry on.” 

Garcia narrowed her eyes on him briefly before exhaling and continuing with her story. 

“What happened? Spence? Where have you been?” She aided in getting him inside and couldn’t hold back her gasp at the state of the apartment. 

Spencer didn’t even seem to notice, or he was just used to it, and manoeuvred the obstacles of destruction towards the couch. 

“Hmm? Oh just out.” He shrugged, collapsing on the beat up leather. 

“Are those…bullet holes?” She gasped again at the obliterated end of the couch. 

“Hmm.” Spencer hummed, swinging his legs up and laying down. 

“Spencer, what’s happened here? I’m really worried about…”

“Y/N?” 

Garcia trailed off again to see Spencer once more looking out across the courtyard. 

“I…I’m sure that’s…” he frowned, grabbing his crutches and pushing himself up with them. “I’ll be right back.”

“Spencer, where are you-“

“I’ll be two minutes.” He called over his shoulder but he was already hobbling away on his crutches. 

It was frustrating not to be able to move faster as he tried to hurry after the familiar back of a head he’d seen wandering the institute's grounds. He followed the path he saw you take behind the building into a more secluded part of the gardens. 

He found you sitting in the grass with your back to him, legs crossed and your head buried in a book. His heart raced partly from the exertion of getting here but mostly from excitement. You were here. You were right in front of him. You’d found him. 

“Y/N?” He called your name as he approached and you spun round to face him, wide eyed.

For the first time in a long time your features weren’t blurred. You looked exactly as he remembered you, maybe a little skinnier and with the addition of dark circles under your eyes. 

“Y/N!” He choked, feeling his tears gathering. “Oh my gosh, you came! Y/N I can’t believe you’re here!”

You jumped up from the grass and clutched your book tightly to your chest. You kept your eyes firmly on him, your back was up instantly. 

“Y/N, say something.” Spencer smiled shakily at you and when he got too close you took a few steps back. 

“This is my reading spot. My private reading spot.” You spoke quietly. 

“Maybe it can be our reading spot?”

“No. No.” You shook your heading, taking another step backwards. “I like to be alone.” 

“Y/N, what’s going on?” 

You clutched your book tighter against your chest as though it was a shield. You took another step backwards and swallowed hard. 

“Look, I just want to be left alone ok?” Your eyes held a hint of fear to them. 

Spencer’s eyebrows knitted heavily as he profiled your expression as you looked at him. He didn’t see a hint of recognition. It was like you had no idea who he was. 

“I…we…” he stumbled on his words. 

“Look I was on a lot of drugs ok? So if we slept together or something I’m sorry but I don’t remember a lot of stuff.” Your eyes shifted about, not able to look at one thing for too long. 

“Drugs? You weren’t on drugs.” Spencer shook his head. 

“Why do you think I’m here?” You shrugged. 

“You’re not…I thought you were here to…see me?”

“Why would I be here to see you?”

“Because we...” He trailed off, his head spinning. Was he asleep? Was this just another of his vivid dreams? 

“Please leave me alone” you whispered, hugging your book even tighter. 

What the fuck was going on? 

“Y/N, I…”

“Spencer?” Garcia’s voice came from behind him and he looked over his shoulder to see her toddling his way, heels sinking into the grass. “Spencer, what are you doing?” 

“I…I was just…” he turned back to face you only to find you gone, vanished as if into thin air. 

What the fuck is happening to me? 

“You need to sit down, come on.” Garcia waved him over. 

He looked between her and the now empty space. Was he completely losing it? 

“Spencer, come on.” 

He sighed heavily and turned himself around and hobbled towards Garcia. He kept his thoughts at bay until they were seated back on the bench. 

“Garcia, I need to talk to you about Y/N.” 

Much like Emily, Luke and Rossi, her facial expression changed to one Spencer just couldn’t read. 

“Uh…” she fiddled with her hands in her lap and wouldn’t make eye contact with him. “Emily said we aren’t supposed to talk to you about that.” 

“What? Why?” Spencer frowned. 

“I just can't, ok? I promised Em.” 

“Penelope, tell me what’s going on.” Spencer spoke sternly and Garcia still didn’t look at him as she pushed herself up from the bench. 

“I should go. Take such good care of yourself boy wonder.”

“Garcia!” He pulled himself up too. “Tell me what’s going on! Please!”

“I can’t.” She turned back to him and he saw the tears in her eyes. “Just trust me ok? Please, just trust me.”

“I need someone to explain to me why nobody will talk about her. What am I missing here, Penelope?”

He looked so sad and confused and it broke Garcia’s heart. 

“Sometimes the truth doesn’t set us free.” She sniffed and suddenly she was hurrying away as fast as her heels would carry her. 

Spencer watched her go, in complete uncertainty. Something was going on. Something bigger than he could comprehend. He was missing something and he was sure it was something big. 

The team was keeping something from him. Something pertaining to you and he had no idea what. 

But he had to find out. 

Next Chapter

Taglist

@andiebeaword @measure-in-pain @takeyourleap-of-faith @dirtytissuebox @smurphyse @ssa-uglywhore27 @reidselle @reidsbookclub @tiredmilky @thatsonezesty13 @1mechanicalalligator @elle-28

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem! reader #criminals minds #criminal minds fanfiction

[ddelline]

f(ictitious work) i(n) p(rogress) friday

blurb | 9k into this impromptu, who knows what-post!canon!nobamaki (still don't know what the ship name is, no)... thing. who knows what it's gonna be? where it's gonna end? what the point is? certainly not me!

premise | what it says above, but also featuring: canonically dead!gojō, but somehow still featuring gojō!shenanigans, more spec parental!freshmen teacher!gojō!shenanigans (who's particular about clothes in the way insanely rich ppl are) bc what else

Gojō-sensei’s funeral is held on 2nd January at noon.

Tradition dictates that students and faculty alike dress in full uniform for funerals. In theory, it’s something Nobara considers to be acceptable. She never knows what to wear for life-and-death kind of occasions, with the exception of being out in the field, for which she wears her uniform. It’s decently tailored and in the right colours, and the A-line cut of her skirt, neither too short nor long, makes it pleasantly multi-purpose. It also makes her feel kind of powerful.

In other words: she’d happily consent to wearing an ensemble of: her school uniform, black tights, and any kind of dress loafers, to literally any funeral—school-affiliated or no; it’s sold, a done deal made easily.

Except in the case of Gojō-sensei’s. 

Nobara thinks she knew him as most people had: as a man most people knew next to nothing about. It doesn’t make her feel sad or anything, that she never got to know him better. He’d been a loud constant, annoying to a fault and in your face about it. He’d also he’d been her teacher, and she supposes affectionate, per his own, offbeat brand. She’s sad, but not sad that they didn’t get more time, or that they were never closer. 

She was very nearly royally pissed off. Pissed off at needing to intervene (on the behalf of a dead person) and dictate that the sartorial conditions of her dumbass teacher’s funeral not be beholden to stuffy, boring tradition. Her dumbass teacher, of whom she, plus every single person who’d ever met him, knew that there was nothing he despised more than keeping to convention and standard; that he likely never enjoyed anything as much as flipping a giant, fat fuck you to tradition—and jujutsu tradition in particular. 

They’d had little in common (for which she’d always been relieved—the concept of being ‘friends’ with Gojō-sensei was an icky thought) but for one thing: they’d been (weirdly) kindred spirits in fashion. If she were to do anything to honour what he’d been, both to the world and to her, she supposes it’s right that it was this.

It’s a scant hour before she’s due to be in the principal temple for the ceremony, and she’s paging through hangers looking for the jacket she’ll be wearing. She flips hangers off-handedly: grey herringbone blazer; floral-embroidered boatneck sweater; strappy, iridescent dress; black fitted blazer—

She stays a hand on the following hanger. It’s a jacket, untouched and unthought of since months—since a lifetime, if she counts lives lived (and died); experiences garnered since. She tugs it out and drops it on her bed. Smooths a palm over the expanse of it; wide polo neck and boxy fit, glossy, purplish-black fabric. 

Nobara doesn’t believe in higher powers, and she’s very sceptically inclined towards the existence of benevolent ghosts, spirits and/or divine intervention. Given her line of work she’s forced to concede to empirical evidence; people can live on after death—she’s got the scars to show for it, after all—but she’s also of the mind that curses are one thing—a guardian angel, holy spirit, or whatever else people believe is perched on their shoulder hindering them from walking into traffic—is something different.

But staring down at Gojō-sensei’s outrageously expensive, made-to-order uniform jacket—which can be found in her closet because she’d stolen it a few months ago in the name of fashion and redistribution of wealth—she can’t help but think that the motherfucker is lurking someplace closeby, a pale vestige caught between dimensions, watching and waiting for the moment in which he can pop into Nobara’s room and shatter a vase, or rearrange her closet, for shits and giggles. 

Whatever it is—the ghost of Gojō Satoru or creepy coincidence—works to make her pause and reminisce, hands splayed over the jacket as she imagines Gojō-sensei taking her down Omotesandō prior to a mission, early fall last year.

Despite getting off at Omote-Sando, which is logically situated on the street of the same name, Nobara’d been surprised to emerge at the foot of Omotesandō Boulevard, long and wide and bustling, lanes serrated by zelkova trees and sidewalks lined left and right with the world’s most well-respected fashion houses. She put a hand on her hip and turned to Gojō-sensei and raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

Gojō-sensei tipped his chin in vague indication down the road in lieu of replying. Nobara counted to ten before following.

They neither spoke nor interacted until a ways down the road when Nobara (not one for looking a gift horse in the mouth, anyway) fitted herself snug against the glass of the Marni window, gaze drawn by and caught by the ornamental, deconstructed display of Francesco Rissi’s print-laden pre-collection. 

Gojō-sensei suddenly addressing her wasn’t enough to make her startle, but it was a near thing. “So you like this, huh?”

Nobara trained a suspicious glare at him over her shoulder. Gojō-sensei making any sort of conversation which didn’t a) require a Gojō Saturu-specific Rosetta stone to interpret, or b) made her want to light him on fire, ranked among the top tier of unusual occurrences. “Of course I do. I’m not some uninformed loser with no taste.”

Gojō-sensei smiled serenely. “Don’t talk ill of your classmates when they’re not here to defend themselves.”

Whatever she was expecting, it wasn’t that. She barked with surprised laughter—shocked in equal measure at Gojō-sensei, whacky and over the top and ridiculous on any given day, but never funny, attempting to be clever… and kind of succeeding.

Gojō-sensei looked pleased with himself.

They made their way down the boulevard at a slow pace. Nobara stopped at a display once every couple of stores, peering at and sometimes through the elaborate display curations: noted new pre-collection additions in some, scoffed at unimaginative accessories’ displays in others. Gojō-sensei stayed mostly quiet and on his best behaviour, only chiming in occasionally with a tidbit commentary (shockingly on the money), or an anecdote (weirdly compelling) until Nobara felt her head hurting with with conflicting emotions (respectively: ‘agreeing with Gojō-sensei’ and ‘not hating spending time with Gojō-sensei’).

Outside the regal, five-storied flagship steps of Valentino they approached the facade in tandem. Nobara peered at Gojō-sensei curiously: the lazy concave of his spine and his squared shoulders; the spotlights in the display bouncing off the glossy fabric of his blindfold. “You shop here a lot?” she asked wryly, because she didn’t know what else to say.

“Not off the rack,” he audaciously replied. When she sputtered, at a loss for a proper comeback that wasn’t a litany of insults, he grinned widely around teeth. It made her want to slap the audacity out of him—a comfortable, familiar feeling at least—talking about shopping for Maison Valentino Couture like he was describing the weather, or in this context, like he was talking about shopping for discounted high-street. 

It also made her want to steal his wallet and lift his no doubt very black, very metal, very invite only-credit card and go to town on every store this side of Shibuya.

“The menswear isn’t exactly revolutionary,” Gojō-sensei continued, unperturbed. 

She agreed. It made her seethe. 

Because Nobara couldn’t walk beside someone who claimed to be a haute couture client and not ask about it, she puffed a breath and changed topics, inquiring gruffly about the made-to-order process (“I can’t believe they cater to people like you.” An exaggerated pout: “That’s hurtful. Money is money, isn’t it?”).

Gojō-sensei indicated her skirt. “I have them make my uniforms,” he said. “Clothes I spend ninety percent of my waking time in can’t be uncomfortable, and school tailoring’s been lacking for the past few years.” 

Nobara blinked. She didn’t know what to do with that information. Didn’t know what to do with that her unhinged, idiot teacher: looks like a textbook himbo, manner of speaking like he’d just disembarked a spaceship after eons and encountered human civilisation for the first time, powerful like seven biblically accurate calamities mashed together—apparently unblinkingly spent money, in the give-or-take ballpark of north of fifteen million yen, on non-distinct, entirely unremarkable-ass workwear.

For a lack of better things to say or do which didn’t involve a) verbalising a long, drawn out noise like a tea kettle whistling, or b) shameless propositioning (not really, but for Valentino couture it’d be a near thing), she stomped a foot in the ground, spat a scathing comment about wealth disparities, and stormed off down the road.

(A month and a half later, two days after she��d socked Gojō-sensei in the mouth with a heavy fist for stealing her skirt and wearing it just to goof off in front of the sophomores and Itadori and Fushiguro (it had connected; Nobara refused to inspect the connotations of that), she limped off track following a gruelling cardio session, and noted a discarded uniform jacket folded next to hers. It wasn’t dirty enough to be Itadori’s; not worn soft with age and patched enough to be Fushiguro’s.

She picked it up; felt its weight and heft and high end thread count, the fall and silhouette a starch contrast to her own uniform jacket. She unzipped the high neck and smoothed a thumb over the label to be sure. Valentino Couture stared back at her in signature, blocky serif lettering. 

Nobara grinned viciously. She brought the jacket back to her room and stuffed it in her closet, feeling neither qualm nor regret. 

Gojō-sensei never asked for it back.)

Thinking back on it, it’s likely one of few available anecdotes about Gojō-sensei which manages to accurately quantify and encapsulate so much of what her teacher had been: impulsive, entitled and flamboyant; difficult to understand by choice rather than design and way too keen on leaning into it; self-important and spoiled with privilege (and once again, way too keen on leaning into it).

Nobara pinches the delicate, insignia-branded zipper of the jacket he’d never asked back between her thumb and forefinger. She pulls it slowly down, folding the exterior to expose the lining. The innards are a study in luxe materials and subtle craftsmanship: large swathes of black silk lining stitched with invisible seams; tucked near the bottom seam are dual flap pockets with hidden zippers, the dimensions of which would enable her to carry at least twice her current max amount of nails in the field. Saving the best for the worst , she thinks meanly. 

Satisfied with the extent of her hands on-analysis, she carefully zips it back up and shrugs it over the hanger. She tucks it back in her closet, opting to hang it at the very front, alongside a handful of precious fabric-items not to be chafed at by coarse denim or itchy wool.

#work: fic #current wip #wip #wip wednesday #(wrong day but w/e pt 2) #fic: hyperborea #nobamaki #jjk #fandom: jujutsu kaisen

[oh-for-fic-sake]

What will daddy Henry do if his little is sad because someone took something valuable from her?

So i wanst sure what to base this on entirely, so I'm going to go with something I went through over the last few weeks. I had a little bit of anon hate, which I deleted but the words stuck with me making me second guess everything i was working on and the confidence i had in my writing was taken away. so this is like a shameful self indulgent fantasy that im going to read to myself when ever im down.

Warnings: Pretty Personal For Me, Angsty, Fluffy, Self Doubt, Happy Ending, DDLG, Long!!

Tagging: @viking-raider @isitmine @tinabean37 @loserrlauraa  @msblkfire84 @henrythickcavill @plainbrunettelbl @dummiesshort @cynic-spirit @pandaxnienke  @two-unbeatable-beaters @libbymouse @wolfieash @eldarwen333 @princesssterek @mom2000aggie @blackestpinkworld 

(not sure who to tag in headcannons? these are the ones on my everything taglist)

Henry watched quietly with a frown as you sat down in the living room, eyes cast down at the tablet in front of you shoulders slumped.

"poppet what's wrong love?"

"n-nothing da-addy" you said with a small stutter

Henry shifted on his feet looking at you critically before coming over to you.

"nothing? So your sitting here almost in tears over nothing" he stated sceptically rounding the sofa sitting next to you.

"I'm not cryin" you sniffled trying to bite your lower lip to stop it from wobbling.

"not yet, but close enough poppet, hand it over" he said holding out his hand waiting for the tablet.

You whined not wanting to hand it to him at first but after a mini battle of wills you placed the colourful tablet in his hand.

Your head was cast down and you rubbed your eyes trying to catch the tears before they were noticeable.

"okay then, so this is your new story?" he asked scrolling through the page not reading it all but scanning the words, it was well written like always.

At the beginning of the pandemic he suggested you started a blog, and you had. A writing blog all full of fanfictions of... Him.

He didn't mind he actually love you doing something constructive, it kept you happy and busy which helped him because there wasn't many free days even in lockdown. He was working out, reading scripts or rearranging covid tests and travel.

Plus knew these smut blogs existed, even lurked on a few.

"y-yeah" you mumbled leaning on him hugging his arm scanning the page as he scrolled, you knew he wasn't reading everything maybe every few lines

"sooo what's the problem?" he said not finding an issue with the writing.

"i... I cant post it" you muttered looking down avoiding his gaze

"why?" he asked frowning not liking the defeated tone you had.

"j-just because..."

"ah I see, you have lost your confidence" he said quickly figuring out the problem, the downside to writing was everything was personal preference so tiny comments could knock your confidence.

In a way it was like his work, you put your heart and soul into it and then people don't like it? It was always a bummer. But he was used to it, you were not.

You nodded to him it was true you'd lost your confidence, you hadn't wrote for a while.

You couldn't seem to find the words to fit together anymore.

You felt silly, they were just a few mean comments, words from a nasty troll who didn't have anything better to do but it hurt, you poured your heart into every chapter and then for people to rip it to shreds? It stung.

"y-yes I... They didn't like it" you hummed fiddling with your fingers, drawing deep breaths trying not to cry

"and so what?" he said shrugging making you snap your gaze to him.

"wha?"

"it doesn't matter love, so a few people didn't like it, lots of people do, I love your stories"

"you have to your my daddy"

Henry huffed and shook his head at you ruffling your hair pressing a kiss to your head amused that you thought that's the only reason he liked your writing.

"don't stop writing just because of a few mean people nugget, it takes a lot of skill to write and a lot of bravery to share it. Your a brave talented little baby and I'm very proud of you"

He said cooing as that seemed to be the final push sending you over the edge making you burst out into tears.

He hugged you moving the tablet out of the way before pulling you to his lap, unbuttoning his shirt half way and squished you into his bare chest knowing you needed to feel him, not a shirt.

"shh its okay babygirl, your stories are wonderful, and you have fun writing them don't you baby?"

You nodded crying harder trying to get the words out but you just couldn't instead whining incoherently into him.

"and you enjoy making the little banners? And collect all your photos and gifs?"

"y-yeah but they di-dn't like it last time!"

"they don't have to like everything you do sweety"

"but I don't wana upset them!"

"did you do the warnings?" he asked knowing all about the do's and don'ts of posting your erotica.

You nodded whining you always did warnings on stuff to be safe.

"and make the little cut thingy you were telling me about?" again you nodded at him

"so your telling me they read the warnings, clicked to see it and then were mean?" you sniffled biting your lip trying to calm down but nodded to him humming quietly.

"well then it sounds to me like they were going out of their way, looking for someone to pick on" he said slowly rocking you slightly.

You fell quiet resting your head on his chest as he rubbed your back and patted your bottom soothing you.

"but what if they wasn't? What if my stories are bad- and encourage bad stuff!" you cried tucking yourself into him tighter.

"no-no you repeat after me, fiction is fiction" he said pulling you back wiping your tears waiting for you to say it out loud.

"fic-tion is f-fiction" you repeated

"I did everything I could to warn people"

"I-I did everyth-ing I could to w-warn people" he smiled at you as you drew a huge breath calming yourself down.

"and they are jealous because I'm an adorable, smart, funny kind and caring babygirl who has the cutest little peach butt in the world~" he said smirking at you from above holding you tightly to him pressing a kiss to your head.

"and they- daddy! Noo! I can't say that~" you gasped flushing as you realised what he had said

"oh yes you can because its the truth now come here let daddy bite that peach~" he growled playfully snapping his jaws at you.

"ah-no!" you screeched giggleing as he began tickling you all over wrestling you playfully trying to lean over and bite your but through your shorts.

He landed two solid bite's on your bottom before pulling back. Even though he had cheered you up he could see you were still doubting yourself.

Henry cast a glance to the tablet and smirked forming a plan that might just get you back on track. He was not going to let anyone steal your sparkle.

"come on you you've spent enough time writing go play in the garden with Kal"

Once you left henry got to work swiping up the tablet and going on your one drive seeing the meticulously organized notebooks, recognising a few by name.

A few weeks later Henry came in to the living room with a medium size box and plopped it on the sofa next to you.

"here we go nugget!" he said placing the gift next to you, they couldn't have come quickly enough, he had noticed you hadn't been writing at all, which upset him because he knew how much you loved it.

"what's that daddy?" you asked peering over the box not expecting any gifts.

"why don't you open it and find out?" he said sitting the other side of the box handing you a pair of scissors to slice the tape.

You moved slowly cutting it open and pulled the box open then froze.

"d-daddy? What thats my..." you trailed off pulling out the hard back books your banner on the front cover.

"your stories? Yes poppet, I realised that you were putting so much work into these things but could loose them, they are soo good that daddy wanted to read them over and over and now we can!" he said pleased with himself as you sat there shocked looking at the small collection of a5 books.

"but their- i dont..." you said happy but completely shocked, flicking through the pages, there were even a few comments in the margins from henry pointing out the pits he liked making your heart swell with pride.

Henry moved to stand behind you pressing a kiss to your hair.

"They are brilliant! So good I'm so proud of every thing you have achieved and I want them on our book shelf, in the living room" he said making you tear up.

"Really? You... You think their that good?" you whined eyes blurring with tears as you hugged the first book to your chest.

"absolutely poppet now go on, you do the honours~" he said pressing your shoulder urging you to go to the cube bookshelf.

You tiptoed over to it and slowly pulled out each little custom book with your banner on the front.

You sat down placing each one delicately on the shelf the five books each lining up with one another half filling the empty cube shelf.

"oh no baby look? The shelf isn't full is it? You know what that means" he said standing looking

"I-I've gotta write?" you asked sniffling weeping softly but this time because you were happy.

"exactly! You need to fill the whole shelf, so you keep up the good work and tell daddy when you finish your next story and we can keep adding to it!" he said cheerfully walking over handing you the tablet.

You smiled to yourself and looked to the books, your books- actual real life books on a shelf!

You grinned throwing yourself at him latching onto him feeling your confidence come back just from seeing how much you had done.

Suddenly the hate didn't matter, your daddy like them enough to make them into real life books! And even annotated them himself?

And if your writing was good enough for your daddy then it was good enough for you.

"daddy, can I have my screen time now, I want to write!!" you said jumping up and down on the spot excited to start your next chapter.

Henry grinned nodding deciding you can have as much screen time today as you wanted as long as it meant you wasn't giving up your new hobby.

#oh-for-fic-sake ask #oh for fic sake ask #oh for fic sake headcannon #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill #henry cavill x little!reader

[5uptic]

crewfu: fanfic spotlight!

We work together by Anonymous (5up & DK, unrated, gen | 248 words)

Summary: One likes plants and baking, the other loves to create and design video games. They stay up and create monstrosities together, it's their fun, it's their favourite game. Aka a 5up and Dk roommate au!

No matter how life tangles, I’m still here with you. by hungryandsleepy (5up/Steve, general rating, m/m | 279 words)

Summary: 5up has been working so hard on his new map, and of course, he needs someone to give him a motivation to go to sleep.

objectively pretty by vesque (5up/Steve, general rating, m/m | 462 words)

Summary: steve is drunk. he's pretty sure 5up is too. that doesn't mean being called pretty is any less momentuous.

you plus me by mangoedges (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 489 words)

Summary: 5up and Steve meet.

he said to me by mangoedges (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 656 words)

Summary: 5up and Steve share a moment.

by the snowmen by mangoedges (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 670 words)

Summary: Steve has a moment when it's all over.

today you got to know me (a little bit too slowly) by runninohhoney (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 675 words)

Summary: Steve lights up a cigarette. 5up doesn't smoke.

what would it take by mangoedges (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 787 words)

Summary: It's Steve's first mission. He hecks up. Or does he?

sorta cute by floweruru (5up/Steve, unrated, m/m | 822 words)

Summary: ‘I wouldn’t do that,’ he said. ‘That’s just disrespectful,’ he said. Yet there was 5up, crushed like a can in Steve’s embrace, feebly kicking at nothing as his feet leave the pavement.

i was gonna kill u, but ur kinda cute?? by Cthulhuer (5up/Steve, general rating, m/m | 1k words)

Summary: Steve is a mess and 5up is worse.

I hear a Symphony by AwkwardAce (5up/Fundy, unrated, m/m | 1.1k words)

Summary: He exhaled until his lungs ached for air, fingers twitching as he opted to remove the sleek white gloves he wore in a feeble effort to soothe himself. It didn’t work. He wrung his trembling hands together as his eyes raked down the worn leather case taking in the doodles- some etched some drawn- across the faded surface. He snapped the buckles open and his breath hitched, catching in his already tight throat. For a moment the world span, his head throbbed and he wanted nothing more than to run and hide. 5up breathed out slowly, shakily.

staring by lytriis (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 1.1k words)

Summary: steve asks 5up out. 5up doesn’t know how to respond.

and it's four am, and yet, you're here by vesque (5up/Steve, general rating, m/m | 1.2k words)

Summary: in which steve shows up at 5up's house, in the middle of the night, completely spontaneously

more than this by mangoedges (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 1.2k words)

Summary: Steve catches 5up venting.

3:15 by vesque (5up/Steve, general rating, m/m | 1.2k words)

Summary: Steve tries to guess Five's name. It's much more difficult than he anticipated.

things were different by fourpebbles (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 1.5k words)

Summary: His eyes circled around to his friends, Kimi and Janet engaging in pleasant comversation, sleepy and becoming increasingly more sober. He looked, finally, across him, and caught Dumbdog staring at him. What now bro, what did this guy want. small talk, turns into not small talk, then there's no talk

Once Upon A Dream by SmearedWords (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 1.5k words)

Summary: 5up looks ethereal, while Steve is struggling to breathe. "You're not real either." Or: Steve has a crush and a nightmare in three parts, 5up is tired, the crew life is hard and Polus sucks.

the ones you love will call you back by homeward_bound (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 1.8k words)

Summary: stevesuptic: dude, is it weird that i miss vegas   DumbDog: No? I do too.   stevesuptic: okay [steve misses vegas and apollo. they talk about it]

cough it out by cj__writes (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 2k words)

Summary: Apollo thinks that Steve must be well and truly gone, at this point, because he giggles, like Apollo’s just told a particularly funny joke. He looks Apollo right in the eye and asks, “Do you trust me?” “Absolutely not.”

ivy by Secular_Czar (5up/Steve, teen rating, gen | 2.1k words)

Summary: It might be a sad day, in general, but Steve isn't about to let it get to him. His friends won't ever let him wallow either.

The Colosseum by WhenTheFogClears (general rating, gen | 2.1k words)

Summary: Five squinted, looking at the colosseum intensely. He thinks Apollo was latched onto the sphinx’s shoulder, fur matted with blood. Janet was slumped against a column, probably out, with Kimi whose bow was snapped in two, her leg twisted at an odd angle. DK was in the corner trying to cast various supporting hexes and charms with a broken arm, whilst Hafu was dragging a heavily bandaged Steve away. or 5up slaughters a cat

Oneshots :) by woofles1990 (5up/Fundy, 5up/Steve, teen rating, multi | 2.5k words, oneshot collection)

Summary: Just a bunch of MCYT/Among Us oneshots, mainly featuring 5up's crew because yes :)

the adventures of 5up and steve staying up late because they're under 30 by 5280ft (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 2.5k words)

Summary: “The night is young!” Steve yells at the ceiling, throwing his hands up in the air. “Take advantage of it! Commit crimes! Fuck hoes!” Five catches his hands in the air and laughs. “You wish you had hoes.”

unreasonably in love by cj__writes (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 2.6k words, chaptered WIP)

Summary: "It was like pieces of a puzzle, everything coming together. And now, here they are, standing in their apartment, which looks more like a hollow shell than a home, filled solely with scattered boxes and the minuscule amount of furniture that they brought with them to Vegas." Or: what happens after Apollo and Steve move in together.

cant be love by fourpebbles (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 3.5 words, chaptered WIP)

Summary: He had chuckled to himself, he felt so stupid. Who in their fucking minds names a playlist 'sugr?', he thought, internally cringing. A story where a Steve meets an Apollo, and some things happen.

Somewhere in the darkness, us together for a while by tumtummeke (Apollo & Kimi & Steve, teen rating, gen | 3.6k words)

Summary: Apollo worries about Steve. Steve breaks his vape pen. Kimi plays power washer. Self-indulgent angst, with a generous helping of friendship and cuddles.

odyssey by 5280ft (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 23k words, chaptered WIP)

Summary: "First you will come to the Sirens who enchant all who come near them. If any one unwarily draws in too close and hears the singing of the Sirens...they warble him to death with the sweetness of their song. Therefore pass these Sirens by and stop your men's ears with wax that none of them may hear." -Homer, The Odyssey

Also: SilverSprinklez10‘s yupwaves collection.

Summary: This is a Harry Potter AU based on the characters/personas of the youtubers/streamers.

FAQ:

Wait what is this: pretty straight to the point! i’ll regularly share crewfu-related fanfictions to this blog :)

How regularly is “regularly”?: great question! LOL. it depends on the flow of fanfics that get uploaded, which i do not have any control over, but i’m looking forward to do this twice a month. after all, it’s only me doing this and i often run on a tight schedule.

What’s the format like?:

[title of fic with link] by [author of the fic with link] ([main pairing(s), if there is one/multiple], [fic rating: eg, general rating], [relationship: eg, m/m] | [word count in k] ([added prompt to specify if it’s complete or not)])

Summary: [summary provided by the author. if it doesn’t have a summary, a “No summary” prompt will be put instead]

(What does WIP mean again?): Work In Progress :)

Why are you doing this?: from the beginning, my blog has hosted conversations about RPF (real people fiction) and crewfu pairings. this has evolved into people sending me updates about certain fics in the crewfu tags every now and then, but i wanna take the next step and just do these things myself. after all, i’m already lurking in the tags often to see the fics that get posted. as someone who is both a writer and a reader, i wanna appreciate fanfic writers and help out other people that want to read fanfic and consume more fandom content!

Will it be AO3 only?: well, ao3 has a very helpful tag system that makes finding fics incredibly easy, as well as allowing people with no accounts to like and comment on fics, so that’s the site i will personally look in for fanworks. but if there are any fics you’ve written or liked in any other platforms, such as wattpad, you can always contact me through my inbox (send an ask or a dm!), and i’ll make sure to include for the next fanfic spotlight :)

Does it mean you won’t reply to fic asks anymore?: yeah, i guess. since i’ll be doing the searching myself it seems counterproductive. but if i ever skip a fic or again, it’s in another platform, or you’ve posted/read the fic a while ago and you want to get more traction on it, hit me up and i’ll take it into consideration!

Will you read every single one of the fics on your list?: oh no. again, i run on a tight schedule, and also i have my own taste when it comes to fics. i won’t be reviewing fics or any of the sort, and my intention extends to simply sharing these fics to this page so people will have easier access to them :) that’s where ao3 tagging becomes SUPER useful!!!

So what’s the criteria for the way you’ll sort out the fics in your list?: word count, going from lowest to highest. in case of fics in other platforms, i guess i’ll put them at the top of the list. i’ll also be looking for fairly recent fics, so let me know if you want any old-ish fic to be included.

I see you talking mostly about 5up/Steve and Steve/Apollo. Can I still send/see other crewfu fics?: why yes absolutely! my goal is to push every fic which heavily features regular crewfu characters - 5uptic and supdog just happen to be very popular pairings. so, to give you a list: core 4 (5up, hafu, dk, steve), apollo, aipha, annie, janet, kimi, ellum, koji... you know the drill. it doesn’t have to be centered on a relationship, or about 5up in specific, etc. my only requirement is that any of the previously mentioned members are a central part of the fic or are HEAVILY featured in it (sorry, minecraft fics with 50+ tags who only mention 5up as an afterthought won’t make the cut :/).

Isn’t shipping Bad™?: well, it’s a little more nuanced than that. i will go out of my way to discourage and shame people who often violate CCs’ boundaries by acting like so and so has a crush on this person, or that this and that are Actually Into Each Other or secretly dating. any sort of tinhat bullshit is a big nono (think larries). but i run on the assumption that people who write rpf understand that what they’re doing is simply write a completely fictional story using real life personalities, and understand the boundaries necessary to do it - aka they’re not tinhats, they understand they can’t assume everything about CCs’ thoughts and personalities, they understand that what they’re writing is strictly fiction, they keep these works only in fandom circles, etc. (but again, it’s only one me doing this, so please be kind if i don’t happen to know that this person is Actually a tinhat or whatever).

show fic: NO. (seriously. i don’t feel comfortable putting my ao3 account out there. please respect my privacy on these trying times <3)

I REALLY don’t care about your rpf/fic talk: fair! i’ll be tagging every single one of these posts as “fanfic spotlight”, so just mute the tag using tumblr settings so you’ll never have to look at these! likewise, you can follow the tag if you want to keep up with it, or search it on my blog to look at the other entries you might have missed (but this is the first one! lol).

Hey, my fic is here and I don’t feel comfortable with it being shared over here: no problem! let me know as soon as you can and i’ll take it down <3

#crewfu #fanfic spotlight

[gallifreyanwriter]

Jess Lives AU

It’s two thirty in the goddamn morning. @disableddean @jackcoded this is your fault for making me aware of this AU that lives rent free in my mind.

Jessica Moore had had a pretty unremarkable life, until she was twenty two.

Until the day she woke up to find her boyfriend burning alive on the ceiling.

Until the day she stared up in horror at her beloved Sam Winchester, eyes rolled back in his head, mouth open in a silent scream, his blood dripping down onto her face.

Until the day she was pulled out of bed by a man she had only met once, a man she had only met three days ago, who lead her, coughing, down the fire escape and collapsed with her out on the front steps of the apartment complex, the both of them holding each other and choking on smoke, on ash, on tears, on the weary weight of trauma.

-

Sam’s brother’s name was Dean, and he wouldn’t look at her.

She would look at him, sometimes. He had delicate features, a deep sadness and wisdom behind his devil-may-care attitude, and green eyes, and he wouldn’t look at her.

He wouldn’t look at her, but he would talk.

He told her about the monsters.

Ghosts. Demons. Vampires. Evil things that lurk in the dark, very real creatures that he and his father had been hunting and killing, with Sam, all their lives. 

She understood. Growing up in the woods of Pennsylvania, everyone knew there were things out in the dark that you just didn’t talk about.

It felt kind of good, in a way, to finally talk about them.

He told her how their mother died--burned to death on the ceiling, by the same demon that killed Sam.

He told her that they were going to kill that son of a bitch, and something angry ruptured in her gut as she told him, so am I.

Dean seemed taken aback by that, but only for a moment before he smiled, all teeth, and said, Welcome to the team.

He still wouldn’t look at her.

-

He wouldn’t look at her, but he would teach.

As they continued their search for John Winchester, Dean taught her how to throw a punch, how to use rock salt and silver bullets and wooden stakes to the heart, sitting down with her at dingy motel tables and going page-by-page with her in his missing father’s journal.

Exorcisms. Devil’s Traps. Hex bags. Holy water. She studied so hard she saw sigils in her dreams, sometimes, which was an improvement over the nightmares.

When they couldn’t find a motel, they slept in the Impala, Dean in the front and Jess in the back.

She thought about her family, back in Pennsylvania. She thought about her friends, back at Stanford. She thought about how many of those people she could save, from a fate like Sam’s, if she went through with this.

The long, long, bench seat seemed to swallow her up.

-

Dean Winchester was nothing if not chivalrous, of course, but he didn’t seem to know what to do with a woman he wasn’t seducing in one of the seedy bars they visited. One day he would insist on opening the passenger side door for her with an excuse-me-ma’am, the next he would clap her on the shoulder and offer her a beer. 

For all of the skills Dean had acquired, she wondered if he had ever had a female friend before. She wondered if he had ever had a friend at all. 

On her first real hunt, she saved his ass--finding and burning the corpse of the vengeful spirit while it was actively choking him to death up against the wall.

Nice work, Jess, he had coughed, and she had grinned, and given a thumbs up with shaking hands.

On her second real hunt, she sliced the head off of a vampire, its blood splattering her and pooling, warm and sticky and nauseating, at her feet.

On her third real hunt, she only stuttered on the exorcism twice, and witnessed the demonic smoke pour out of its victim and back into hell.

It was horrific. It was terrifying. It was exciting.

All the while, the search for John was becoming more desperate. Jess was getting impatient, and who could blame her? She questioned Dean, often, about whether they would be able to find him, to which he would snap a retort, to which she would roll her eyes.

Anger. Frustration. Arguments. Screaming matches. Too many drinks.

How do you know that your dad’s even still ALIVE out there?!

I have to believe! he had said, brokenly, I have to believe. I can’t...I can’t lose them BOTH.

With that, he finally looked at her.

He looked at her, and his tough facade came crumbling down.

She looked at him, trying and failing to stop himself from sobbing, and saw that he was just as grief-stricken as her. Scared. Stuck in endless mourning. Barely hanging on by a thread. 

I miss him, she said.

He looked at her, and with tears still swimming in his eyes, said, Yeah, me too.

So he told her all about Sam.

He told her about the past, the things that Sam would never mention, that Sam always wanted to protect her from. He told her funny stories from their childhood, stories that were meant to be funny but were really heartbreaking, monster hunting tales, stories that made her rage against the demon that had wrecked Sam’s childhood, and ended his life as an adult.

He told her more about Sam’s life than she could ever have fathomed knowing before that fateful night.

And she filled in the blanks. She told him about the party where they met. She told him about their first date. She told him about their first kiss. She told him about his favorite classes, the teachers that had it out for him, and finally, she told him about the hushed conversation they had, in the dark of the night, where Sam suggested in a shy voice that one day, after graduation...maybe they could get married. And she had been so thrilled that she had tackled him in a kiss, knocking him down into their shared queen bed.

Jess? Too much information.

They were both crying into their gas station sandwiches.

-

“What would I do without you?”

“Crash and burn.”

#spn #supernatural #jess lives au #jessica moore #Jess: have you ever interacted with a woman Dean Winchester #Dean: that doesnt matter

[catbot158]

Imposter Factory: I Beat It (Non-Spoiler)

So I finished Imposter Factory, the sequel to Kan Gao’s To The Moon and Finding Paradise games. I have been in love with To The Moon since I played it all the way back in 2012, and I have never stopped loving it, no matter how many times I have replayed it. However, I only played Finding Paradise once, and while I thought it was just as good as its predecessor, I had a harder time connecting with it as I did with To The Moon, even though its themes were more relatable to me as a person. Still, I was excited for Imposter Factory; Kan Gao never fails to make me laugh, think, and cry in the span of a few moments, and the few images we’ve gotten over the last two and a half years since its announcement have only made the hype grow. So of course I forgot about it until release day, and in a panic I bought it and played it right away. Naturally.

The only two things I knew going into Imposter Factory were twofold: 1) the basic synopsis (which even that I doubted) on the Steam page, and 2) the concept that IF’s main themes were “in-between” TTM and FP. Other than that, I was going in blind, and I think that’s for the best. The game is at its best when you are surrounded by the mystery of everything going on. What is this mansion you found yourself invited to? Who is this mysterious woman who is lurking around the place? And whose is murdering this lovely old couple with very wealthy connections? It hits the Agatha Christie vibes just right. You never know what is going to hit our intrepid hero, Quincey, next. 

But like the Steam page says, that is only the first third of the game. I won’t go into too much detail about the other two-thirds of the game, but I will say that the second half is more or less what you would come to expect from a Kan Gap game: exploring memories, collecting orbs, and moving on to the next memory. Except this time, there are no bickering scientists one-lining their way through a person’s life- instead, Quincy is the one in control, and this alone is an interesting concept. Quincy has no clue as to where he is and what these orbs do, and that makes for an interesting twist on the formula. We aren’t following indifferent but sympathetic workers, but a person with a kind heart, and so his reactions to the memories he witnesses are much more raw and emotional...when he reacts. There are times where he just seems emotionless, even when he really shouldn’t be. That’s a shame, because Quincy is a fun guy to hang out with otherwise. He actually cracked me up more than Dr. Neil Watts has, and Neil is a comedic king in these games. Just it feels like he probably should’ve had a companion with him to bounce off of during the second third of the game, to add some levity to the proceedings. While a little cheesy and unnecessary during the serious parts, Rosaline and Neil were fun characters to hang out with, and its a shame they’re not controllable this time around. 

That isn’t the only issue plaguing IF. For one thing, there isn’t as much interactivity with the environment as there is in the previous games. You barely talk to NPCs and there are barely any items to click on and read funny descriptions on. Also, the “memento” system is done away with: the orbs break open a barrier and you move on to the next section, no puzzles to solve to progress. I will admit that I didn’t miss the puzzles as much, but I did miss trying to find the next memento and seeing where the memento leads to; they gave a break from all the story we’re constantly surrounded by. These, along with Quincy’s relative silence during the second third, means IF has a more serious tone to it than the previous game before it, and while it does make it stand out from TTM and FP, the game also feels less memorable than those other two. TTM and FP were meme machines and had a lot of quirky moments to break up all the sad. Oh, except for Ricebot. Ricebot and the weird long cat were good.

My final problem with IF, however, is much grander than the other problems I’ve mentioned, but it is unfortunately a spoiler. I will do a spoiler post about IF later, but suffice it to say, it majorly affects everything about the game, and it did affect my overall enjoyment of the game. I know people are going to disagree with me on this, but I have to say what I feel. 

Overall, IF was definitely a fresh new twist on the series. The art was spectacular, there was actual animation this time that looked wonderful, I (mostly) enjoyed the new characters and the music is beautiful as always (though sadly Laura Shigihara did not sing anything this time :( though Leafpie did, so check that out). I do think, however, it’s the weakest of the three Sigmund Corps. games. The script isn’t as tight as before and the darker tone means we’re missing some of the series’ iconic humor, but there is still some good stuff to chew on here. I still almost cried again, so that is a good sign, at least.

(Also one note I want to make: Kan said that, like before, IP can be played without having played the other games in the series. I agreed with him when it came to FP, but this time I am going to have to disagree with him on IF: You should at least play Finding Paradise before playing Imposter Factory. I will not spoil why here: let’s just say that there are some things in FP that pop up again in IF.)

EDIT: I HAVE SAID THE SPOILERS. HERE ARE THE SPOILERS. Don’t kill me please lol

#imposter factory #to the moon #finding paradise #kan gao #rpg maker #rpg game #Laura shigihara #imposter factory spoiler #ricebot #undertale #deltarune #oneshot game #dr. neil watts #dr. Eva Rosaline #neil watts #eva rosalene

[pnk-wasteland]

Screenshot: Adrienette that’s borderline crack in the best way (Teen&up)

It was a nightmare. He hadn’t meant to leave his phone unattended, Alya had asked him a question and when he put his phone down to give her his full attention, Nino had picked it up to check the time and instead was greeted with a private Instagram account Adrien had created with the specific purpose to lurk in peace.

“No way, dude. Do you just stalk a bunch of Ladybug look alikes in your spare time?”

Adrien gaped, too horrified to process his world falling apart around him.

“Wow, look at this one, she looks almost exactly like ladybug!”

“Let me see!” Alya sounded too eager.

He’d never admit it, but there were more than just a few girls on his private Instagram that looked “exactly like” ladybug. And no, it wasn’t just a uncanny accident.

But the account his friend happened to stumble on was his favorite, a well off Russian Instagram model who’s handle was Steelix.

She could pass for a perfect Ladybug, if not for her brown eyes. She was perfect in almost every way, and posted great *ahem* material. Ladybug was the fantasy girl of his dreams and anybody that looked liked her was at risk of being followed and stalked by his private finsta page.

His private page he was privately ashamed of.

That his best friend was now holding up to show his own girlfriend, and the girl Adrien quietly, sort-of had a crush on. This really was his worst nightmare. He tried to snatch the phone from Nino but to no avail. “It’s just some girl. I like her photography.”

“Yeah sure that’s why you liked all her recent pictures and wrote in the comments ‘omg’ with a heart face, a drooling face, and two fire emojis.”

Adrien was red in the face, his mouth gone completely dry not knowing what to say.

“Wow Adrien, these are the kind of girls you like?” Alya asked.

Adrien glanced toward Marinette, and the look on her face was perfectly surprised. Ironically, her face was one of the ones he lives to see grace the screen of his dirty private Insta. Marinette had great Ladybug features right down to the freckles on her nose. The only bad thing was Marinette rarely posted any selfies at all, and although her account was an interesting documentary of her handmade fashions, it did not serve the dirty purpose his fake account had followed her for.

“So what?” He finally grabbed the phone from Nino and was getting back some of his composure, although his face was still deeply flushed.

“Oh no reason.” Alya’s smile was wicked, and it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

——__ __——__ __

Marinette ponders what she just witnessed while Alya blabs in her ear. She wasn’t holding the phone, but it sure looked like he was following a lot of slim girls with shoulder length black hair. If she didn’t know any better she would think he would have a type... And he certainly did nothing to dissuade that idea. He turned beet red and made some dumb excuse about photography. And that girl.. the one whose photo he had commented on, Marinette knew her. Well, she had previously followed her. Steelix has such a similar face structure to her own that she had been a phenomenal teacher of makeup to Marinette. She knew all the right things to use and what products would work on her just by watching what Steelix recommended. She had loved following her for her beauty content, but when her account started becoming more of a travel diary with pictures of her on island beaches in bikinis with inspirational quotes covering the captions, Marinette had to find other places to search for helpful information.

All of these thoughts were making her wonder about Adrien, and the things she had neglected to notice about him.

“If Adrien likes shorter, dark haired girls than why doesn’t he comment on my selfies like that?”

“Umm interrupt me, much?”

Oops, she didn’t mean to say that outloud.

“But maybe because you never post any, especially not to insta.”

Marinette thought about this. It was true she used her IG story to post updates on her Latest creations, and her grid was very much like a well thought out catalog. She was very proud of that page, but it was definitely not the place where she’d be posting cute sundress selfies.

“I use my Snapchat for personal stuff like that.”

“Exactly. And I bet you haven’t even given Adrian your snap.”

Marinette frowned, stealing a glance at the boys table. “No, I guess I haven’t.”

“Well what are you doing sitting here talking to me for? Go get his snap and start using it for evil!”

---_ _ _---_ _ _---

“Hey Adrian! Wait up!”

Adrian was more nervous than he should have been when his friend approached, but he kept the feeling off his face. “Hey Marinette! What’s up?”

She stopped right in front of him, “I was just thinking about earlier, how you have a private instagram account.”

Adrians stomach dropped. Had she figured him out? Did she know he was using her and girls that looked like her to quiet his drowning ache for Ladybug? He was so ashamed of himself. He was weak, so desperately weak.

“And it just got me thinking that I’ve known you so long and we don’t even have each others snaps.”

“I’m so- wait, what?”

“Snapchat. We don’t even have eachother added. So, want to be friends?” Marinette held out her phone, snap code ready for him to scan, her happy little pigtailed Bitmoji smiling up at him.

Something warm ticked his belly. “Yeah, definitely.” He pulled out his phone and added her to his seldom used snap account.

——__ __——__ __

He has to add her on his old account, the one with the list of contacts from kids that once gave him their number. There really isn’t that many.

Adrien finds out quickly that Marinette posts her selfies on snap, and keeps her instagram clean and more professional. Very smart for a girl who is looking to go to college next fall. He clicks on her daily story; a picture of her in her bedroom mirror, a picture of fresh croissants and danish, a picture of Alya, Rose and some other girls at her lunch table, and then finally a selfie. A picture taken from straight above, she was lying down in her bed, light pink and white pajamas that looked like they may have a ribbed texture to them. He could see the edge of the selfie stick she was using to get such a wide angle, the idea that she had planned this sleepy in bed photo turned him on more than he could have ever dreamed. He could see the tops of her exposed thighs where her matching pj shorts abruptly ended. Her lean, exposed belly led up to the cropped short sleeve tshirt, that was so on-trend and so Marinette that he had no doubt she’d made it for herself.

Best of all, her blue eyes stared right back at him through the camera and her lips were puckered just right.

It was as he was getting himself all worked up thinking about the blue of her gaze, easing his own back down her body when he realized something else; she wasn’t wearing a bra. And the way she had arched her back to show off the muscles of her stomach only made it more obvious; and Adrian couldn’t believe he didn’t notice them before. Tiny peaks hidden behind soft pink fabric. He was going to lose his mind.

His heart was beating faster and he swallowed back guilt as he unzipped his pants. Her body was amazing, and he was insanely greatful she left this on infinite. He worked himself till climax thinking about what her nipples must look like beneath that thin pajama top, and what it might feel like to taste them. He kept working himself, more gently, thinking about that face, those lips and those eyes and how bad he wanted her to swallow him. Who? Marinette or Ladybug? Honestly in that moment he didn’t feel like he was using her pictures as a ladybug substitute. He cleaned off his phone and thought seriously if he should use his tablet to take a picture of the screen just so Marinette wouldn’t know he screenshoted her. Another, dirtier part of him wants her to know. Wants to comment on her pictures like he’s some random thirsty nobody. Tell her how she makes him sweat, how he can’t get enough. He wants to use his private page to stalk her, too.

Damn sometimes the lines get too confusing.

He sits there, weighing his options. This picture was too good for him to let go. But he didn’t want to look like he was chasing after Marinette’s thirst traps when he knew he was still just a dirty pervert for Ladybug. Adrien felt like screen recording would be even more creepy than a screenshot, and almost made him feel like he was coping out, being a chump. But if he did screenshot her what would Marinette say? Would she ignore it? Would he be sad if she did?

Adrien shook off his intrusive thoughts and screenshotted his new favorite photo. And for good measure; and maybe so he could feel like he was making a move instead of just drooling over his classmate; he sent “wow” with an emoji it took him way too long to choose. Stuck between the drooling or hot emoji he finally got fed up with himself tapped his screen and sent it off without letting himself immediately get anxious. He made a decision, over analyzing himself won’t help anything. Now he just had to wait for Marinette to respond.

And then he could freak out again.

——————————-

A/N: a work in progress, can someone help me come up with their snap handles? I don’t like the ones I have right now. Adriens is supposed to read as (BeAgreste= be•our•guest). I dunno! I’m not good with puns it’s the best I could do! Please help me!

#adrienette #mlb #marinette dupen chang #adrien agreste #miraculous fanfic #modern fic #aged up #social media #thirsty adrien #temptress Marinette #miraculous ladybug #miraculoustalesofladybugandcatnoir #mlb fanfiction #fanfic #mywork #mine #so many spelling errors plz forgive me #I keep mispelling adrien as adrian #I'm putting this and another chapter on AO3 #crossposted to ao3

[phantomnostalgist]

Ethan Freeman Phantom interview

An interview with Ethan Freeman from about 1994 or 1995, printed in “Beneath the Mask” #8 (which I haven’t found my print copy of yet, but the interview was reproduced on our old POTO fan site). 

Also of note about Ethan: at the time he was one of the two youngest actors to have played the Phantom - he and Anthony Warlow were both 28 or 29 when first cast in the role.

Are there any differences between London and Vienna - if so, what are they? The general tone of the production in Vienna was slightly more Operetta-like, probably due to the language, the sound of the translation and style of acting of some of the players. The tempo was also at some points quite different depending on who was conducting, and would undoubtedly feel strange to me now. The audience tended to be less tuned in to the humorous moments in the show in general, and some scenes like "Managers I & II" for example, simply run better and are more clever in English.

How did you get the role? I got the role of the Phantom after auditioning for Hal Prince and Gillian Lynne and the Viennese producer and musical staff. They appeared very excited about the audition. I'd sung "Music of the Night" which they praised in a friendly manner (Hal is always positive and encouraging), and they sent me off to learn the segment from the Final Lair "Order your fine horses... This is the choice. This is the point of no return!" When I came back the next day to do it (the Phantom candidates appeared by then to have been reduced to three) Hal said "OK Ethan I want you to scare me!" So I did the section with as much power and venom as I could muster (Id never seen the show - I think Id heard the record once or twice...) and after it was done, Hal just said "Great. You scared me!" and that was that really. Later that day they explained to Alexander Goebel and me what they would like and would we be willing to share, obviously with Alex, who was very well known, being the dominant of the two. So we split 5/2 which frequently ended up being 4/3 as the run went along.

How did you research the character? I read the novel finally, all the way through. Ruth Hale, my partner in "Cats" at the time, later to premiere as Mme Giry in the Hamburg production, gave me a copy as a present. I'd seen several of the films over the years so I knew there wasn't much to be mined from those - although Lon Chaney Snr did display some magnificent body language, and I've nicked at least one dramatic gesture from him. Principally though, I had several long meetings with Hal in New York to talk about the role and show. He instructed me to go watch Michael a few times then come back and talk some more. Crawford was magnificent, at the peak of his vocal power and still fairly fresh in the role and I was moved and impressed as I have not been since by a Phantom. (Though Dave Willetts, I must say, also made a huge impression the first time I saw him, for his power and well-delineated psychotic behaviour.) At first I thought boy, you've got your work cut out for you on all fronts. So, I would say my "research" of the role was principally based on my own discussions with Hal and also largely on my own thoughts and feelings. Obviously most of the physical manifestations of the role, make-up, costume, blocking, etc were predetermined so there wasn't much scope for change. To be honest, I feel some of the Phantoms I've seen tend, in an effort to be different, to stray from the basic line of the drama and weaken themselves as a result. Michael's acting was extreme, yet very clear and economical at the same time, and I also try to offer the audience a complicated and ambiguous character going through clear, unambiguous moments of his life - otherwise it's so easy for the audience not to "get" everything that's there - or to "get" things that aren't intended to be there at all.

How do you feel on stage? So varied in thought and feeling that I can't really give a concise answer. I feel quite differently now to how I felt 600 odd shows ago. I used to have to concentrate on staying concentrated - now it just happens. I know what to achieve and just try to let it happen. I'd say I'm both in and out of Erik at the same time and he in me.

Do you think it's based on a true story ie. did the Phantom exist? I doubt it - I haven't read this newer novel "Phantom" yet and don't intend to until I finish playing the part. However I've been to the Palais Garnier and in all senses of the word it is a 'phantastic' theatre, one which easily conjures up many stirring images - beautifully represented in the Phantom designs, I'd say!

What do you think of Erik? I wish he'd let me have a little more time to myself! Oh, I don't know. He's a sad, bitter, brilliant man. He has a great brain and can be a real bastard. I find him easy to understand - he's motivated by a terrible profound loneliness and has been forced to create his own universe which has its own laws. Anyone who has known some kind of loneliness or feeling of apartness when they were children or growing up can tune in to this crucial aspect of the Man, which is his great mythical attraction. He is so powerful, awesome, in control and yet so hurt and vulnerable. He must epitomise great beauty and great ugliness at war with each other, reason and insanity, God/Satan, Id/Ego battling it out. In the end, he learns about sacrifice, shows mercy and is redeemed by love - a great, archetypal Romantic drama - another reason why the story has always been so popular. I can't stand it when I see Erik played as a "nutter". Yes, he goes "crazy" a few times, but in general he is not insane in the pathological sense. I feel if he is played as a schizophrenic or a psychopath, the romantic ideal of the story is dashed, because both of those conditions would indicate a "determination" that makes any hope of redemption impossible, and would break with the "Romantic" style. He is very melancholy, angry, egocentric, neurotic perhaps, and goes off into rages of frustrated sexuality, but he is not insane. And I'll kill anyone who thinks otherwise!

What do you think happens to him at the end? That's our little secret! I think the different fan magazines have probably spent pages on that so I don't see I need to contribute. He goes!

Why do you think the show is so appealing? Some lovely songs, great orchestrations, a nice mixture of melodrama and light comedy, some stunning sets and a lot of good theatrical magic: and on the thematic side, many of the things I've mentioned before, which I suppose you could define as the archetypal Beauty and the Beast scenario which, if honestly portrayed, can tug the heartstrings of even the most urbane Japanese businessman.

What is your favourite role of those you've played? Obviously Phantom is the supreme role in my repertoire to date. I did however, really enjoy my stints in other Lloyd Webber shows as well. Che in "Evita" was very cool to play and Gus/Growltiger, while exceedingly 'uncool' thanks to the heavy knitted costumes, was a joy to play, despite being totally knackering, and one that I was surely born to do. I really enjoyed doing Hajj, the Poet in "Kismet" with the BBC Radio 2 last year, working with the composers, and would love to have the chance to do that again on stage someday.

What role would you like to play? I'd quite hope to have a go at Sweeney Todd somewhere down the line and would still like to play the Celebrant in "Bernstein's Mass" at some point. (I've nearly done that a couple of times.) Add to that a heap of great operatic roles I'd love to do but probably never will and whatever new, unknown roles lie lurking up ahead. We'll wait and see!

End note from me - Ethan’s wrong about schizophrenia, but hey, this interview was 25 years ago and actors can’t be expected to be experts on mental illness. But I really love this interview, the depth he goes into, and how his sense of humour comes through too.

#the phantom of the opera #phantom of the opera #ethan freeman #classic phantoms #poto #poto legends #phantom legends

[miyaoniku]

secret keeper [oikawa x fem!reader] [soulmate!/mafia! au] pt. 2

[author: chae]

a/n: sorry for the delay! i meant to post this a lot sooner, but i had midterms and then some family issues came up. i now just have the long grind until finals and a final paper due in a few weeks, so i’m not sure when i can get the next chapter out. things are left unedited as usual coz i’m a lazy butt.

on another note, i’m opening up a taglist for this story! if you would like to be added, dm/send an ask to @miyaoniku :))

(also i probably should’ve included this in the previous chapter but 

warnings: this is a mafia au so :))) expect some form of violence, mentions of drugs/alcohol, strong language at times, things like that. honestly just expect everything because i have no idea what i’m going to write)

~*~

“some things are better left unsaid.”

[soulmate!au] [mafia!au] [oikawa x fem!reader] 

masterlist | prev | next

When you left your house that night, you didn't expect to bump into such a handsome specimen. You most definitely didn't expect for that handsome specimen to be your soulmate. And you certainly didn't expect for someone to find out about the very thing that you have kept hidden for so long. The secret that you had kept behind a multi-lock door was never meant to be shared to a single soul, yet someone was able to find the right key to open part of it. 

You and your soulmate, who you have yet to know the name of, sat at opposite ends of a bench in the park. He had guided you here after you scrambled to your feet to catch up to him. 

The two of you sat in silence, a silence so noticeable that one would think the two of you were complete strangers (they wouldn't be wrong, but things are definitely on a deeper level than that). Twiddling your thumbs was more appealing than facing what he was about to throw at you. 

"So..." he started, crossing one leg over the other, hands in his pockets. "What are you going to do?”

"What do you mean?"

"Do you want to tell me what you saw, or do you want to forget about it?”

“... In all honesty, I'm willing to forget about your secret if you forget about mine."  He let out a chuckle. 

"You must not understand what I'm saying.” he said as he stood up, walking behind you and wrapping his arms around your neck. “I’m not letting you go until I find out what you know about me.”

His breath blew against your ear, sending shivers down your spine as he whispered those words to you. You eyed the way his arms were positioned, noticing that they were ready to restrain you if necessary. From that action, you knew that he meant what he said. You took a breath and let it out before speaking. 

“I’ll tell you. Please let me go.”

A moment passed before he retracted his arms. He moved again, this time standing behind the seat next to you. Draping his arms over the back of the bench, he leaned onto the bench, resting himself on his elbows and lowered his head to your level. 

"It wasn't much," you started, whispering into his ear, "I just saw you dropping something into a tray and someone sliding you an envelope."

"That's all?" You nodded. 

This man, your soulmate, was more mysterious than meets the eye. If you had saw him from a distance, you wouldn’t have guessed that he had such a strange secret, nor would you have thought of the great lengths he was willing to go to to hide it. 

"I guess what you know is just a bland as what I know. The only thing I saw was you leaving a hospital room after visiting someone." 

You let out a sigh in relief. What he knew was only the surface of what actually happened, the first page of your sad story. He looked at you in interest before speaking.

“As much as I’m interested in finding out what you were doing, I couldn’t care less whether or not you told me.” He rolled up his sleeve to check his watch, before looking back towards you. "It's getting late. You should head back home." 

"Alright…”

You walked in the same direction as him, following a few feet behind him. Sensing your intimidation, he sighed before stopping, turning around to face you. 

“I’m not going to hurt you. You told me what you knew, remember? That was all I wanted.”

He began walking again, slowing his pace to match yours, taking your silence as his permission to continue beside you. Silence engulfed the two of you a bit longer as you strolled down the dimly lit street. That is until you felt something cold drop onto your forehead, followed by dots of white falling in front of you. 

“Oh, it’s snowing.” you said. Your soulmate stuck his hand out, allowing the snow to float down to the palm of his hand.

“It’s the first snow, isn’t it?” 

“It is.”

“Do you like the snow?” he asked. You hummed in response.

“It just reminds me of all the winters I spent with my mother. She would always have something warm on the stove and she always bakes treats during the holidays. They’re some of the happiest moments I have with her.”

“... I see.”

“What about you? Did you do something with your family during the winter?”

“It’s better that you don’t ask about that.” he replied with an icy tone. 

The atmosphere between the both of you grew tense. It was clear that the subject of family relationships was something that he did not want to discuss. In truth, you were a bit intimidated by his quick change in mood once the topic of family was mentioned. Silence once again cloaked the both of you, this time more evident than before. You noticed his minute change in pace after his reply. He began walking a bit faster, and he began keeping his distance from you. You trailed behind him, watching his shoulders tense ever so slightly. Staring at his figure, you wondered to yourself what kind of experience this man had had for him to avoid the subject completely. The thought didn’t last very long, as the two of you had arrived at an intersection.

“Um, I head this way, so… Have a good night.” You said, pointing towards the street he just walked past. He nodded curtly, bidding you a good night and walking in the opposite direction of you. You watched as his retreating figure grew smaller, before heading back to your home. 

As you walked, your hand clutched onto your house keys in your coat pocket. You couldn’t shake the feeling of something eyeing your back. You arrived under the light of a lamppost, the pale yellow light illuminating a small portion of the area around you. You took out your phone, opening your camera and pressing the record button. Pressing you back against the wall, you examined the area around you, flickering your eyes to any lurking shadows you could possibly find, straining your ears to hear any possible movements. 

You heard footsteps rushing over to you. Out of instinct, you turned around, only to see your soulmate throwing his arms around you, pulling you close. 

"I'm sorry." He said in a moderate tone. “I won’t do it again. Please don’t leave me.”

"Why are you-"

"Someone's following you." he muttered, hugging you tighter. 

You didn’t know what to make of the situation. The only thing you could think about was the way his arms wrapped around you, shielding you from the cold and from the eyes of your predator. He raises his voice again. 

“I truly do love you. So please…” he pushed away from you, revealing the anxious look on his face. He took your hands in his as he looked into your eyes. “Don’t leave me alone.” 

Your eyes widened in surprise at how convincing his acting was. Keeping up with the charade, you leaned your head on his shoulder, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. He smelled of mint, you thought, and also clean linen, probably from the collar of the sweater he was wearing. 

"Okay."

to reiterate: if you would like to be added to the taglist, dm/send an ask to  @miyaoniku​ :)  (or on another platform that you know me from *squints at mutuals*)

taglist!: @chromaticstudio @elcie-chxn @lonely-andromeda​

​i hope i’m doing this taglist thing right

#oikawa tooru #oikawa fic #aoba johsai #seijoh #haikyuu!! #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #mafia au #soulmate au

[superman86to99]

Superman #84 (December 1993)

Superman takes a short Paris vacation! Like, one day short. What's the worst that could happen?

Oh, man.

So, for the past few issues, we've been hearing about children being abducted in Metropolis. Now we see that they're being kept inside a giant toy house by some creepy bald man in Quasimodo clothes who seems to be obsessed with toys -- a "Man of Toys," if you will. Side note: no wonder the children haven't been found... all the articles about them are just gibberish! (See clip below.)

The kidnapper thinks that these kids' parents don't deserve them, and that they're much better off here, in an underground hideout with a man who threatens to starve them if they don't play with him. (And I do mean literally play, with action figures and stuff.) Meanwhile, as these children cry for help, Superman is having the time of his life. While helping move a stranded ship with some huge-ass chains, Superman spots a sunken galleon with a treasure chest inside and fantasizes about keeping the booty...

...before turning it over to the authorities anyway, the big boy scout. Then, he wakes up Lois at 6 AM and tells her they should go to Paris right now, which usually means your significant other is having a mental breakdown, but in this case they can actually do it. And so, after deciding that he deserves to use his powers for fun every once in a while, Superman and Lois drop everything and fly to France with super-speed for the rest of the day/issue.

Anyway: back to the child abduction! Cat Grant and her son Adam attend a Halloween party at Adam's school, but there's a disturbed weirdo in a hideous costume lurking among the crowd. Yes, I'm talking about Jimmy Olsen in his Turtle Boy suit.

Shortly after that, a guy in a dinosaur costume (see, all the creeps are dressed as reptiles) lures Adam out of the party with the promise of "superb video games." What child could resist that? Of course, that turns out to be the kidnapper and Adam ends up in his hideout along with the rest of the missing children and, worst of all, not a single "Lextendo" console.

The kidnapper gets angry at Adam when he refers to the toys at the hideout as "old-fashioned junk" (he was REALLY looking forward to those video games), and even angrier when Adam tries to free the other kids. Adam is brave and puts up a good fight, but...

And those were Adam Morgan's final words. "Uh-oh."

Next, we have a pretty harrowing scene of Detective Turpin letting Cat know Adam’s body was found, and Jimmy and Perry White taking her to the morgue to identify the body (most people probably wouldn't bring their former boss to something like that, but Perry sadly knows more than most about losing a kid). As for Lois and Clark, they were gone so long that the Daily Planet had time to print a headline about the murders. The issue ends when the lovebirds walk into the office smiling like two people who just spent the night fooling around in Paris... only to feel like jackasses when they find out what happened.

To be continued!

Character-Watch:

And that's it for little Adam Morgan who, unlike the also tragically diseased Jerry White, didn't even get any post-death appearances. Adam went from a little kid scared of Superman, to a huge brat, to a character who was approaching likeability as of last week. That's why I hate it when DC kills off young characters like Adam or Liam Harper: in long-form storytelling, children represent potential. Look at how much Wally West or Dick Grayson evolved over the years compared to their mentors! Sure, there's a huge probability that Adam would have ended up disappearing from comics for 25 years anyway, but who knows, maybe we'd now know him as Teen Gangbuster or something. GangbusTEEN.

This issue also represents a turning point for the kidnapper, who is never named or seen clearly in the story itself but I don't think I'm shocking anyone by spoiling the fact that he's Toyman (it's in the cover, for one thing). In his last two appearances before this storyline, Toyman helped Superman save some kids from Sleez and looked genuinely sad to learn about Superman's death, so this is a pretty dramatic change for the character. We'll find out why he went from big softy to child killer in Superman #85 (but don't get your hopes up).

Plotline-Watch:

The most disturbing part of the issue, all things considered, is still the part where Toyman climbs into a giant crib and hugs a huge stuffed bunny. Look at serial killer Tommy Pickles here:

Don Sparrow says:  “Even with the upgrade, Toyman is still just a man in a suit, a common complaint about Superman’s rogues gallery.” Funny you should say that, because I JUST shared an old Wizard interview in our Twitter in which Dan Jurgens talks about how Doomsday came out of his frustration with the fact that most Superman villains are dudes in suits (plus other interesting tidbits from the era, like how it was actually Roger Stern’s idea to bring back Hank Henshaw, so check out that link!).

Don again: “The entire Superman storyline of this issue feels like filler. Diving for buried treasure and soaring off to Paris -- it all feels like wasted time next to the Adam storyline.” I have a theory that the entire ship sequence is there as an excuse to put Superman in those big chains and make that Spawn joke (which I didn’t get until now, since I’ve always read this issue in Spanish).

Superman says that pulling that big ship was "a little easier than expected" -- that's either another hint that there's something going on with Superman's powers since he came back, or a subtle dig at the state of American ship manufacturing.

Another adorable "window tap" scene for the books, and this is the sexiest one so far. Is it me or has Jurgens started copying more than just Teri Hatcher's hairdo from Lois & Clark? (For anyone who thinks Lois has gotten implants, I refer you to this clip.)

While in Paris, Lois asks Clark if he's ever wondered what would happen if his rocket had landed in other countries. Don: “Clark’s conversation with Lois sounds like a bunch of concepts for Elseworlds stories. We eventually would see a Russian Superman, and a British Superman, but not yet the French Superman. (Hire us, DC!)” Yep, got my French Superman pitch ready, Jim Lee. Or just let us do Russian Superman again, since Red Son wasn’t even the first time you published that idea.

Don once more: “Another thing that makes no sense about the ‘new’ Toyman is his resentment of technological toys—when in previous appearances he himself had deadly high-tech toys to vex Superman over the years.” I especially resent his hatred of video game consoles. Incidentally, I wonder what types of games are available for Adam’s beloved Lextendo. Star Lex 64? Mega Man Lex? Sonic the Hedgehog 3 & Knuckles & Lex?

No one is more upset at Lois and Clark for going AWOL than Whit. NO ONE. He's so furious that his usually grey mustache turned black.

Patreon-Watch:

As always, shout out to our patrons, Aaron, Murray Qualie, Chris “Ace” Hendrix, britneyspearsatemyshorts, Patrick D. Ryall, Samuel Doran, Bheki Latha, Mark Syp, Ryan Bush and Raphael Fischer! Last month’s exclusive Patreon article was about the recently unearthed sequel to Superman 64 for the PlayStation, featuring Metallo, Parasite, and Lois looking even hotter than in this issue:

Hot damn. Find out more at https://www.patreon.com/superman86to99!

And believe it or not, Don Sparrow has even more to say about this issue. Read his section after the jump:

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow​):

I should start off my section with a big caveat:  I flat out hate this issue. There were several weird decisions made in the post-Death-and-Return era (most of them along the same lines of making the Superman titles more grim-and-gritty), and this story was one of the worst of them.  My theory is that, despite the praise and record-breaking sales of the Death and Return storyline, the Superman creative team felt pressure to have more extreme storylines, perhaps in response to the wildly successful Image books coming out at the time.  Between this story, and the upcoming “Spilled Blood” storyline, the Super books take a hard—but temporary--turn into more violent and upsetting storytelling—even though these stories are by the same writers as the previous few years. While death has always been a part of comics, and Superman comics was no exception, there is a jarring glibness and unfeeling toward the way violence is handled in these pages that is quite different from the stories that preceded it.  It’s made all the more jarring by the fact that well-established personalities suddenly veer wildly out of character, Toyman chief among them.  

We start with the cover, and while it is technically well-drawn (by the familiar team of Jurgens and Breeding) it’s also a very upsetting visual.  I think they should have gone with the pieta type pose with Adam and Superman, OR the scary badass bowie-knife Toyman (who apparently has a Cheshire cat smile now) but not both.  But the cover is a good hint at the tonal dissonance of the comic within.

We open with a splash of the now-extreme 90s looking Toyman, with his serial killer shaved head and spooky cloak, ignoring the pleas of hungry kids he has locked up in a tiny jail cell for days at a time (if that sentence doesn’t ring alarm bells for how wrong this is for a Superman story, I don’t know what will). For much of the issue Toyman’s eyes are obscured by glare on his lenses, further de-humanizing a character who was once one of Superman’s more empathetic bad guys.

We cut to Superman tugboating a huge tanker with giant chains and it’s a cool visual (one repeated in the Batman V Superman film).  It feels especially out of place to focus on, given how upsetting this issue is otherwise, but throughout the whole comic, Lois is drawn smoking hot, especially on the two page spread on pages 9-10.

The scenes depicting the actual murder, while still wildly out of place in a Superman comic, are well done, and give a real sense of darkness and menace, which I suppose is the intent.  Perhaps my least favourite visual is the Big Bird stuffie, silently bearing witness to what’s about to occur.

The edges of the panels on get more slashy and off-kilter (to me, looking very much like the layouts more typically seen in Image comics of the day) and I suppose I appreciate the restraint of how little Dan Jurgens shows of the death of a child, showing only a bloody slash on a black background.  This is still a pretty baroque image for a Superman comic, but certainly less violent than it could be, given what is happening.

Cat Grant’s silent horror is well staged, and powerful in its way.   Lastly, Clark Kent bending in sorrow and regret is a powerful image.

While this issue is handled marginally better, and more maturely than other comics on the shelf at this time, I still believe it is one of the biggest mistakes of the era.  Giving a long-established character an unceremonious death for shock value is gross on its own, but making it a child definitely crosses a line for me.  Making it worse is that, while the Toyman is a criminal and a killer, he has shown in past issues (a similar kidnapping storyline involving Sleez) that he genuinely cares for the well-being of children.  So for a long-time reader, this also felt like a betrayal of a long-established, fully developed character.   Adding to the ugliness of this is that Adam dies heroically, trying to free the children who have been caged, unfed, for days, but even in that regard, he fails.  The headline at the end of the issue confirms all the children are dead.  Adam’s death did not buy the other kids enough time to get away. It was all for nothing. Had Adam died, but the other children lived, maybe this issue wouldn’t leave quite as bad a taste. [Max: It’s weird because it’s all told in a way where it’s told in a way where it would make sense, narratively and within the story universe, that the other kids survived, but then it’s almost casually revealed that nope, they died too. A scene of one of the kids relaying Adam’s heroism to Cat in a future issue would have gone a long way.]

Superman doesn’t come off well in these pages, either.  It’s honestly the type of story they should just stay away from, because the more you think about all the calamity that is going on around the clock, the less defensible the whole Clark Kent persona becomes. Superman carving out time to romance his fiancée directly led to the preventable deaths of innocent children—how do you come back from that?

STRAY OBSERVATIONS:

I’m always looking for hints that perhaps Jimmy or Perry know Superman’s secret identity deep down, and Jimmy’s anger at Lois and Clark on their return to the Daily Planet offices would seem to give that theory some credence, as he’s as angry at them as if he knew Clark really were Superman.  Either that, or he’s ticked that it fell to him, and none of them to escort Cat into the morgue. [Max: Has this issue finally converted you to the “Jimmy is terrible” side now, Don?]

I don’t think I’m the only one who disliked the new Toyman—SPOILERS BE HERE: years later, in Action Comics #865, Geoff Johns retconned this whole story, reverting Schott into the criminal who over-relates to kids, rather than the child-killer of this story.  Apparently the infantile Schott, who speaks to “Mother” a la Norman Bates, is a robot so lifelike it fools even Superman, and the “Mother” he’s constantly replying to was the real Winslow Schott trying to recall the malfunctioning robot. [Max: That’s one Geoff Johns retcon I really didn’t mind, even if it felt kind of derivative of his similar “all the Brainiacs are robots made by the real Brainiac” reveal.]

#superman #dan jurgens #josef rubinstein #toyman #cat grant #adam morgan #dan turpin #whit #gangbusteen #super luthor fighter ii turbo championship edition

[jjackrabbitt]

Miss Peregrines, book 5, chapters 1-3:

woo! next book!

i really love the inside cover it's so pretty

z"l H and Horatio

i wonder if Noor's ever just going to not accept what some one's telling her about the peculiar world. at this point she doesn't know much and Jacob keeps saying all these batshit things and she just rolls with it.

i'd like a chapter that was from her perspective

it really makes me sad that Jacob ever feels disconnected from his friends and i wouldn't be surprised if that deepened during the next book.

It's Hugh and Bronwyn :^)

oh so now it's bees, plural? nice

"not my first rodeo." i would love to see more crimes

Noor jumps turnstiles and Hugh decided to forego stairs and slide down a banister

she's so good at running around new york city, i think we should let her loose in Devils Acre and see what she finds

"It's absurd. I shouldn't trust you, but I do." THEN DON'T

Wyn and Noor are friends

i hope they rebuild Miss Peregrines loop in Cairnholm in the next book since we're getting a picture of it and they're talking about rebuilding lost loops

oh good, Sharon's here

he's definitely just lurking around corners waiting for plot important people to step right into him

at this point i'm just in denial that he's evil now and i'm going to keep that illusion going until he himself breaks it

i'm also disapointed that Jacob didn't get to the meeting but that's just cause i'm curious what's happening here

"what did he want?" "i have no idea," he just wanted to say hi and meet your new friend. that's all, no evil business.

woo! child labour! love to see it

can someone please give Sharon's cousins a new song

we're not even going to mention Rasputin in Sandina's picture?

are we sure the Emancipators are emancipating the world from the apocolypse, or are they bringing it?

We've Had 60 0 Years Without Our Last Nonsense

that being said i love these kids and Miss Peregrine so much, i want to make them a replacement table

i bet they have that accursed infinity stew in Devils Acre

i wouldn't be surprised if in the next book normals got involved some how, just because of the dinner conversation at Miss P's new house

and if Bronwyn continued being an important source of information

this one kid i babysit, Mataeo, reminds me so much of Horace. he's 9 or 10 and very loud about his opinions, likes to dress nice, and it all kinds of witty. this's also had the reverse effect of Horace being Mataeo when i'm reading so now, to me, Horace is doing all these crazy hand motions and dramatic faces and randomly singing parts of his sentances.

it's also branched off to Olive, in that she looks like Mataeo's sister, Abbey, who is just like Mataeo but with more righteous anger

we've never had any interaction with any of Sharon's minions on page so i'm left to assume It's Just Rats. yes, even when they are said to have talked.

#mphfpc #unpopular mphfpc opinion hours #Sharon #Noor Pradesh #Horatio #Hugh Apiston #Bronwyn Bruntley #Horace Somnusson #H #Alma Peregrine #Jacob Portman #Olive Abroholos Elephanta

[velvetthunder1999]

All the time on Earth

Part 17 - Happy

Summary: You take George on a date where he tells you stories about his family and the first time he realized he loved you

Warnings: None, Fluff

Word count: 4.2K

George Weasley x Reader

Masterlist

You were just writing the last words on your Transfiguration essay when Hermione who was sitting opposite you in an armchair by the fire exclaimed in an angry voice.

“I can’t believe they still doing this!”

You and Ron followed her gaze. She was staring at Fred, George and Lee, who were surrounded by a group of first-years, giving them candies for testing. You raised and eyebrow but didn’t say anything; you turned back to your homework, hoping you could finish it before Hermione erupts again.

“I told them yesterday I write to their mum if they don’t stop,” she said snarkily. Your eyes met Ron’s and both of you turned away very quickly. “You think it is all right, what they’re doing?”

You needed a second to realize that she was talking to you. You raised your head again towards the boys, then shrugged.

“They’re not doing anything illegal, Hermione,” you said casually. “I’ve checked the school rules.”

“What they’re doing is dangerous. And those are just kids!”

“It’s not dangerous,” you sat flatly. “They’ve tested everything on themselves, so have I. I know for a fact that Lee ate at least twelve of those candies since the week we’ve been here, and he appears to be just fine.”

“I still don’t like it,” she said. “It can cause serious harm.”

“No, it can’t.”

“At least you should be more responsible!”

“Hermione, you know about the sort-of-illegal business I’m running here, right?”

“I have a few words about that, too.”

“Great, hold that thought for a second, I’m trying to finish here.”

You leaned over your essay again, and Ron gave out a snorting laugh. He quickly stopped when Hermione looked at him.

“Will you tell them to stop, then?” she returned to you.

“I’m not their guardian, Hermione. Let them make some money, please.”

You folded your finished essay and looked towards the boys again. George apparently was eavesdropping because when you met his eyes across the room, he winked.

September’s first week was about to end and you already felt exhausted. You’ve written a bunch of essays to five different teacher, and that Umbridge woman was giving you pointless homeworks as well; copying pages out of her beloved book. You had a feeling that if this was what she called teaching, you won’t be quite satisfied this year.

As Saturday arrived, you felt like sleeping in, but you knew you had loads of things to attend to. You dressed quickly and went down to the Great Hall for breakfast. As you sat at the table, your eyes stuck on Ron’s sickly looking face.

“Are you all right, Ron?”

He just nodded. Ginny answered for him.

“He has his first training today as official Keeper.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” you said as George sat down next to you and Fred opposite you. “Well, good luck, Ron!”

He nodded in silence. George kissed you quickly on the cheek and reached for a toast.

“Good morning. Are you coming to watch the training session?” he asked, looking for the marmalade jar.

“Sorry, I can’t,” you said, handing it over to him. “I need to do a few things today.”

“On Saturday?” asked Fred in disbelief. “I cannot imagine the pain.”

When you finished eating, you joined the twins to walk with them till the quidditch pitch. Fred went ahead to the changing rooms but George stayed behind.

“You sure you can’t stay?” he reached for your hand. You smiled at him.

“Sorry. Really. I try to finish early.”

He made a sad pouty face.

“Fine. I show off some other time then.”

You giggled.

“That’s the spirit,” you saw Ron and Harry coming to the dressing room as well. You raised an eyebrow at George. “Be nice, okay?”

“I will, I will.”

He turned back to you with a small smile. You nodded and kissed him on the cheek.

“All right. I gotta go. Have fun!”

You waved and left him behind. You needed to hurry if you wanted to do everything you have planned.

——

After finishing the training and taking a shower, George was looking for you everywhere in the common room but you didn’t seem to show up. He joined Fred and Lee feeling rather disappointed; he hoped returning to school would let you spend more time together, since during the summer you had to sneak around for every private minute.

When the common room started to get empty he stood up, too, joining the crowd heading to have dinner, however, he was only walking on the marble stairs leading to the Entrance Hall when you appeared next to him, grinning.

“Hey there.”

“Hey! Where were you all day?”

“Oh, I needed to get ready,” you said, with a suspicious smile on your lips.

“Ready for what?”

“I’m going on a date.”

George’s heart gave a panicked throb and he stopped in his tracks in the middle of the stairs. A third-year boy walked right into him but he didn’t care.

“You — What?”

“Yeah, on a date,” you said shrugging. George felt his brain shutting down.

“With — Who?”

Your grin widened.

“My boyfriend.”

“Your…”

He was mumbling. He looked in your cheeky eyes. Why were you not concerned?! Why were you… you…

“For Merlin’s sake!” he exclaimed and you started to laugh. “Don’t ever do this to me again! You naughty little prat!”

You laughed and you hugged him. He felt his heart calming down.

“So what are you planning?”

“Come, you’ll see.”

You took his hand and lead him out in the park, leaving the crowd behind. George was gazing at your face in disbelief as he was still recovering from the extreme shock. You two passed the greenhouses and George realized that you were heading towards the quidditch pitch.

“I really made an effort, you see,” you said, while climbing the stairs to the rows where audiences sat during the matches. “Ta-da!”

George looked around and saw at once the packages prepared on the highest benches;  numerous kinds of sandwiches, butterbeer bottles by the dozen, his favorite Honeydukes candies, games from Zonko’s and Dr Filibuster's Fireworks lay around on a huge blanket.

“I felt like we couldn’t really hang out lately,” you said. “And you did this for me once so I guess I’m returning the favour.”

George felt that warm feeling in his chest, the one he only feels when he’s with you. He took your hand and sat comfortably onto the blanket next to you.

“Where did you get the butterbeers, though?” he asked.

“Why?”

“It wasn’t a Hogsmeade weekend.”

“Oh, I went through the tunnel,” you said, raising an eyebrow in doubt and opening a bottle. “Don’t tell me you don’t know about the tunnel.”

“Of course, I do, but I thought… You know what, I’m not even surprised. Cheers.”

He beamed and drank from his bottle, not taking his eyes off you. He was blown away.

“So how was quidditch practice today?” you asked, not realizing that he was gazing at you. George shook his head a little, forcing himself to create a sentence that actually makes sense.

“Oh, it was rubbish,” he said. “Ron accidentally threw the quaffle at Katie, and she had a nosebleed.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah. Fred gave her the wrong candy — that just made it worse. She had to go to the hospital wing.”

“But is she all right?”

“Yeah, she’s fine now,” he said reassuringly. “But training was still dreadful with Slytherin lurking around.”

Your face darkened.

“I’m guessing they were really interested in Ron’s capabilities.”

“Something like that,” George drank again. Even though his brother was a bit slow-paced sometimes, he wished the worst for everyone other than Fred and himself who dared to say a bad word about Ron.

“How was he?” you asked, concerned. “He almost fainted when I saw him this morning.”

George chuckled.

“You want the kind answer or the honest answer?”

You grimaced.

“The honest answer, kindly.”

“He’s… not the best. Not the worst, either. Harry says he’s got it, he’s just nervous.”

You nodded silently. George was smiling to himself.

“You never saw me flying, you know that?”

You snorted, chuckling.

“That’s not true. I saw you on matches loads of times.”

“Not like that,” George shook his head, beaming. “You know, since we are — cohabitants.”

“Cohabitants?!” you burst out laughing. “That sounded horrible!”

“Sorry, I meant since we have been dallying with each other.”

He was grinning like crazy at the sound of your laugh. You were incredibly loud and he loved it.

“Okay, just stop,” you said, still giggling. “So, since we’ve been living in sin, you mean…?”

George laughed and choked on his butterbeer. He felt like he was going to have a coughing fit.

“Are you okay?” you giggled. He nodded, then made a ‘hic’ sound and he started hiccoughing. You laughed again.

“Hey!” he said, trying his best to hold back the laughs and the chuckles. “Don’t laugh at —‘hic’.”

You were leaning back in laughter. He shook his head — ‘hic’ — and tried to come off it by holding his breath but — ‘hic’ — it wasn’t working. Every time you seemed to calm down, he chuckled again, making you laugh even more. If it meant seeing you like this, he was up for hiccoughing for the rest of his life.

“All right, all right,” you said after a long fit of giggles. “Try taking small sips and raise one arm above your head. That should do.”

“Is this like a muggle — ‘hic’ — solution?” he asked while waving around like a windmill.

“You don’t know this one?” you giggled watching him. “I’m starting to realise we have a lot of different life hacks.”

“Yeah?” he said then swallowed the rest of his butterbeer. The hiccoughs stopped. “Ah, that’s better.”

He reached for a few Filibuster's Fireworks and lit them with his wand. He threw them into the air, watching as they were flying all around five feet above your heads. You followed them with your eyes as well; in the setting sun your hair looked the same texture as honey. George smiled to himself. He suddenly wanted to share every thought that had ever crossed his mind with you.

“When we were children we believed that if you don’t fly your brooms regularly, they get bored and break out of the shed in the middle of the night. Attack you in your sleep.”

Your eyes widened as you giggled.

“What?”

“Yeah,” George nodded, beaming. “So Fred and I waited until everyone was asleep and snuck out to play quidditch in the dark.”

“I bet your parents loved it.”

“Oh, yeah,” he chuckled at the memory. “Dad had to sleep in our room for two weeks to make sure we stayed inside.”

“How old were you?”

“Fourteen,” he smirked.

“What?!”

He laughed.

“No — no, about four or five, I reckon. We were quite a handful.”

“You are quite a handful,” you said, shaking your head, smiling. “Tell me more.”

You were looking at him in such a tender way he could not help but smile. His heart was beating really fast again. He took your hand into his and continued.

“Let’s see… Did I tell you how I got my middle name?”

“No.”

“You know it’s Fabian, right? And Fred’s Gideon. They were brothers of mum. They both died in the war. I reckon she wanted to commemorate them somehow.”

You were looking at him with warmth in your eyes.

“That’s a really nice gesture of her.”

A sweet, sorrowful expression appeared on your face. George leaned closer, examining you.

“Did I make you sad?”

You shot a small smile at him.

“A little. But it’s okay. These are important things. We should not forget about telling them.”

George couldn’t help himself. He leaned and pressed a tender kiss on your cheek, then he just let himself get lost in your presence, taking you all in, with a smile hiding in the corner of his lips.

He felt so different when he was with you. So honest. So free. He knew he could tell you anything. Even the not-so-nice stuff. Even the sorrowful things. He knew you’d understand, just like you understood why he had told you this. He saw it in your eyes. He saw kindness and caring. And it made him feel a bit better. He had always thought his middle name carried a gloomy meaning. With you, it didn’t seem so gloomy anymore.

Merlin, he loved you so much.

“Tell me more,” you said, with that eager expression on your face. Like you’d give anything to hear him gabble his tatty stories.

“All right… Let’s see… Oh, here’s one. When we were little, Fred and I always pretended to be each other. Drove mum crazy, that one, ‘specially when we did something we were not supposed to.”

You chortled.

“And you left that habit behind, have you?”

“Er — sure,” he said, not very convincingly. Then he cackled. “Once we tried to confuse Snape, in first year. He ended up taking a hundred points from Gryffindor. Mm… Those were the days, I’m telling you.”

Your giggles returned and his heart was beating fast again.

“What are you on about?” you said. “You’re not even that identical.”

“Yes, we are!” he said in mock offense. “Loads can’t even tell half the time.”

“Come off it, it’s not that hard!”

“Why, how do you know you’re not sitting here with Fred right now?” he asked. “I might have been fooling you for a whole week.”

You snorted.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I can tell the two of you apart in an instant.”

“I’m sure sometimes you can’t, though,” he said teasingly. You furrowed your brows.

“That’s not true!”

“Isn’t it?”

“No, stop,” you said, scowling. “Don’t say that.”

“I’m just joking.”

“I know, but it’s important to me. You knowing… that I know. I want you to know… I always… I’m always certain.”

Your puzzled speech made him take your hand again. As he spoke, he was smiling mischievously, but he meant every word.

“I know you can tell us apart, love,” he smirked. “I know it since the Yule Ball.”

You turned to him in surprise.

“Really?”

“Mm…” he trailed off for a moment, reminiscing about that night, then continued. “Remember, you didn’t tell me who did you think I was. And we danced later and I wished you’d knew for real, but I wasn’t sure… And then you said ‘Good night, George’ and it was a really big deal for me.”

He hesitated. He felt himself blushing but he also wanted to tell you… He cleared his throat and smiled sheepishly.

“I think that was it for me. When you said my name… I just somehow… knew.”

“Knew what?”

He didn’t answer, but looked at you with a you-know-what-I-mean face. You seemed to be blushing a bit, too. He found you beautiful.

“That’s…” you started. “Blimey.”

He chuckled.

“Sappy?”

You giggled as you leaned closer to him. You kissed him on the cheek, just as he had done a few minutes ago to you.

“Yeah,” you said. “Yes, it is, but it’s okay. But, yeah, a bit sappy.”

“All right, then, tell me yours if you’re so witty,” he said playfully.

“Mine?” you said, thinking. You smiled to yourself. “I think when we went to Hogsmeade for the first time. And I refilled the butterbeer bottles with magic, remember?”

“Yeah.”

“And you said, you said this: ‘You really are something.’ And I was blown away, because I knew I wasn’t doing something nice, but… You seemed to understand. And I just… It felt so… right with you.”

You were captivating as you were sitting there, showering in the last orange beams of the sunset. George was not fond of showing off, let others see what you two have… He had always believed it to be a private thing. But as he saw the last people wandering around the quidditch pitch, way below where you were sitting, he almost felt like putting everything aside and just press kisses all over you right here, right now.

His rumbling stomach reminded him that you two skipped dinner, indeed. He looked down at the sandwiches you had brought and his chest felt warm again.

“Are these for us?”

“What do you think, ginger boy?” you handed him one from the pile. “Here, take it.”

He took a bite and his stomach immediately felt better. He wondered if he’d feel the same if anyone else but you’d had made the sandwiches.

“What’s yours?” he said, mumbling through the ham and tomato.

“Cheese. You wanna try it?”

“Yeah.”

You switched.

Above your heads the Filibuster’s Fireworks were throwing their last sparks around before their remainings fell at your feet. The quidditch pitch and the park was empty now, as curfew was coming. George’s mood sank a bit as he saw Hagrid’s empty hut in the distance; he just hoped that he’s all right, whatever mission Dumbledore had sent him on. Sitting here with you, eating sandwiches and drinking butterbeer made it hard to believe that somewhere out there the greatest dark wizard was planning to destroy their peaceful world. He wished he could stay in this moment with you forever.

“You wanna play a round of Exploding Snap before heading back?” he asked you.

“Sure!”

You opened a pack of Fizzing Whizbees while he shuffled the cards. You put a piece of candy in his mouth as well and he pressed a kiss on your fingers as a thank you.

By the time you finished playing it was already dark, only the moon was shining on the sky. George knew you felt the same — trying to stretch out this perfect day, before returning to reality. But soon you could do nothing about it. It was time to pack your stuff and head back to the castle.

“Are you cold?” George glanced at you as you shivered.

“A bit. I’m more creeped out by the forest. Look.”

You pointed at the treeline by the Forbidden Forest. George grinned.

“Ron said there are enormous Acromantulas there,” he said teasingly. He knew you hated spiders. “Bigger than a car, even.”

“Oh, shut up, will you?” you shivered again. He laughed and put an arm around your shoulders.

“Wouldn’t it be nice, tough? A nice tour in the —”

“George!” you scolded him and ran a few feet ahead. “I leave you behind if you don’t behave!”

“I’d like to see you try,” he said, running after you. You shrieked as he almost caught you at the bottom of the stairs and giggled loudly when he embraced you in a tight hug in the Entrance Hall.

“George! Let me go!”

“I don’t think so, love,” he said, peppering you with kisses from behind.

“Let me go, I feel sick!”

George let go in panic at once. He reached for your face in concern.

“I’m so sorry, are you all right? Did I do something?”

“Hah!” you blew raspberries at his face and started laughing again as you ran up the marble staircase. George scowled in mock outrage.

“You’re making fun of my good heart, Y/N!” he shouted as he was running after you.

The two of you were chasing each other all the way on the corridors. You stopped in the middle of a hallway, waiting for him, playing with him, daring him to chase you again. You seemed to be trapped between a statue and the window; behind you the stairs had just moved away.

“Having some trouble?” George asked, smirking. His voice was echoing in the empty hallway.

“Oh, you wish!” you giggled and decided to jump to your left, at an arriving staircase. George followed and caught you for the second time, holding you close from behind.

“Don’t even dream about going free this time,” he murmured in your ears and he felt you shivering again.

“You overestimate yourself, Weasley,” you chuckled.

Somewhere in the distance a door was shut, but it was too far away for George to care. He only cared about you as you turned around in his arms, standing in the middle of the moving staircase. You casually put your arms around his neck. He loved when you did that.

“I wanna ask you something,” he said suddenly. You nodded.

“Ask.”

“It’s a serious question.”

“Okay, ask,” you smiled at him with anticipation.

George had no idea where this was coming from. He just wanted to know. He just wanted to be sure. He’s a declared sappy git already… so it didn’t really make a difference.

“Are you happy?”

He saw that the question took you by surprise. Somewhere above he could hear footsteps.

You nodded, smiling.

“Of course.”

He shook his head.

“No, witty… I mean seriously. Are you happy?”

You were looking deeply in his eyes. George knew you understood. He just hoped you say yes. Yes to being happy with him… just as happy he was with you.

Your smile faded a little as you were thinking… evaluating… George’s heart was beating nervously. You looked to his side, reminiscing about something that he couldn’t see, something only you could see, only you could remember… then you looked back at him, a piercing look in your eyes, and you said calmly with a returning smile:

“Yes. I am happy.”

George let out a deep sigh and grinned. His chest felt really, really hot. When you reached for his face, the touch of your fingertips left him feel dizzy.

“Are you happy?” you whispered. George didn’t even need to think about it.

“Yes, I am.”

“I am serious, too.”

“I am very happy,” he leaned closer to kiss you but you turned away.

“Don’t, I have a boyfriend!”

“Oh, all right then,” he let go of you and stood tall, making it impossible for you to reach him. “Is this all right?”

“Now, that I think about it…” you said with a cheeky grin. But he purposely stood even taller on his toes. He loved playing with you like this. His smile widened when you gently pulled his tie towards you.

“Now, now, what will your boyfriend say?”

“He can handle it.” George gave in and closed his eyes in pleasure as your lips touched his. He grabbed your robes and pulled you closer to him, taking in your wonderfull vanilla shampoo and tasting butterbeer on your tongue…

“Hem hem.”

George sprung aroung, hiding you behind his back in an instant. He knew this voice, this disturbing little sound, he knew whom it belonged to. He was right. On the top of the staircase was Professor Umbridge, staring at the two of you with a wide smile.

“Mr Weasley,” she said in a girlish voice. “Miss Y/L/N. Are you aware of how late it is?”

“No,” said George at once. Umbridge shook her head.

“When I ask you something Mr Weasley I expect you to answer with ‘Yes, Professor Umbridge’ or ‘No, Professor Umbridge’. Let’s try again. Are you aware of how late it is?”

“No… Professor Umbridge.”

“Come up here, please.”

She indicated next to her, and she herself stepped off the staircase, too. George looked at you and rolled his eyes; you smirked and took his hand. He knew detention was coming, he didn’t really care; he was rather annoyed that he has to spend his valuable time cleaning statues or writing some lines.

You walked up the staircase and stopped in front of Umbridge. George wondered wether she was twice as short as him. She shot an interested glance at his hand holding yours, but she did not comment on it.

“Now, I must inform you that breaking the school rules comes with consequences. Leaving your dormitories at night, way past curfew is one of the many things that are forbidden in this institution. I am expecting you on Monday at five o’clock in my office. Detention, it is.”

“For going on a walk?” you said irritatedly. Umbridge glanced at you holding hands again before she answered.

“Punishable behaviour should be punished, dear. Was I clear enough?”

“Yes…” you muttered. She raised an eyebrow. “Professor Umbridge.”

“Wonderful. Let’s hope we can break off these silly… habits,” she took one last glance at your hands. “To your dormitories, now. Off you go, please.”

You didn’t speak until you reached the Fat Lady, but when you stepped into the common room, both of you snorted with laughter.

“Punishable behaviour should be punished,” George said in a high pitched voice. “Honestly.”

“I hate that woman so much,” you said, rolling your eyes and giggling. “Detention! Seriously?! Like I had nothing better to do than writing some lines for her or something.”

“Exactly,” George said, pulling you closer to him again. “Come here, you.”

He pressed a kiss on the tip of your nose. You giggled. You were very giggly tonight.

“I had fun, you know,” he said.

“Yeah, me too,” you nodded before letting out a huge yawn.

“Maybe you should turn in.”

“Yeah, probably,” you said, rubbing your eyes. You curtseyed playfully. “Goodnight, Mr Weasley.”

George seriously considered saying ‘Goodnight, Mrs Weasley’ to you, but he decided he’d rather not freak you out. So he just said his usual ‘Sweet dreams’ and only turned away when you waved him goodbye and disappeared behind your dormitory door.

#harry potter #george weasley fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #imagination #imagine george weasley #george weasley imagination #george weasley x reader #george weasley x you #georgeweasley #george weasley #fredweasley #fred weasley #Fred and George #Fred and George Weasley #gred and forge #weasley twins #hermione #ginny #Ron #Ron Weasley #weasley #weasley family #hogwarts #hogsmeade #hp #hp fanfic #hp series #harry potter series #hp imagines

[rawliverandcigarettes]

Mass Effect Retribution, a review

Mass Effect Retribution is the third book in the official Mass Effect trilogy by author Drew Karpyshyn, who happens to also be Lead Writer for Mass Effect 1 and Mass Effect 2.

I didn’t expect to pick it up, because to be very honest I didn’t expect to like it. 9 years ago I borrowed Mass Effect Revelations, and I still recall the experience as underwhelming. But this fateful fall of 2020 I had money (yay) and I saw the novel on the shelf of a swedish nerd store. I guess guilt motivated me to give the author another try: guilt, because I’ve been writing a Mass Effect fanfiction for an ungodly amount of years and I’ve been deathly afraid of lore that might contradict my decisions ever since I started -but I knew this book covered elements that are core to plot elements of my story, and I was willing to let my anxiety to the door and see what was up.

Disclaimer: I didn’t reread Mass Effect Revelation before plunging into this read, and entirely skipped Ascension. So anything in relation to character introduction and continuity will have to be skipped.

Back-cover pitch (the official, unbiased, long one)

Humanity has reached the stars, joining the vast galactic community of alien species. But beyond the fringes of explored space lurk the Reapers, a race of sentient starships bent on “harvesting” the galaxy’s organic species for their own dark purpose. The Illusive Man, leader of the pro-human black ops group Cerberus, is one of the few who know the truth about the Reapers. To ensure humanity’s survival, he launches a desperate plan to uncover the enemy’s strengths—and weaknesses—by studying someone implanted with modified Reaper technology. He knows the perfect subject for his horrific experiments: former Cerberus operative Paul Grayson, who wrested his daughter from the cabal’s control with the help of Ascension project director Kahlee Sanders. But when Kahlee learns that Grayson is missing, she turns to the only person she can trust: Alliance war hero Captain David Anderson. Together they set out to find the secret Cerberus facility where Grayson is being held. But they aren’t the only ones after him. And time is running out. As the experiments continue, the sinister Reaper technology twists Grayson’s mind. The insidious whispers grow ever stronger in his head, threatening to take over his very identity and unleash the Reapers on an unsuspecting galaxy. This novel is based on a Mature-rated video game.

Global opinion (TL;DR)

I came in hoping to be positively surprised and learn a thing or two about Reapers, about Cerberus and about Aria T’loak. I wasn’t, and I didn’t learn much. What I did learn was how cool ideas can get wasted by the very nature of game novelization, as the defects are not singular to this novel but quite widespread in this genre, and how annoyed I can get at an overuse of dialogue tags. The pacing is good and the narrative structure alright: everything else poked me in the wrong spots and rubbed how the series have always handled violence on my face with cruder examples. If I was on Good Reads, I’d probably give it something like 2 stars, for the pacing, some of the ideas, and my general sympathy for the IP novel struggle.

The indepth review continue past this point, just know there will be spoilers for the series, the Omega DLC which is often relevant, and the book itself!

What I enjoyed

Drew Karpyshyn is competent in narrative structure, and that does a lot for the pacing. Things rarely drag, and we get from one event to the next seamlessly. I’m not surprised this is one of the book’s qualities, as it comes from the craft of a game writer: pacing and efficiency are mandatory skills in this field. I would have preferred a clearer breaking point perhaps, but otherwise it’s a nice little ride that doesn’t ask a lot of effort from you (I was never tempted to DNF the book because it was so easy to read).

This book is packed with intringuing ideas -from venturing in the mind of the Illusive Man to assist, from the point of view of the victim, to Grayson’s biological transformation and assimilation into the Reaper hivemind, we get plenty to be excited for. I was personally intrigued about Liselle, Aria T’loak’s secret daughter, and eager to get a glimpse at the mind of the Queen Herself -also about how her collaboration with Cerberus came to be. Too bad none of these ideas go anywhere nor are being dealt with in an interesting way!!! But the concepts themselves were very good, so props for setting up interesting premices.

Pain is generally well described. It gets the job done.

I liked Sanak, the batarian that works as a second to Aria. He’s not very well characterized and everyone thinks he’s dumb (rise up for our national himbo), even though he reads almost smarter than her on multiple occasions, but I was happy whenever he was on the page, so yay for Sanak. But it might just be me having a bias for batarians.

Cool to have Kai Leng as a point of view character. I wasn’t enthralled by what was done with it, as he remains incredibly basic and as basically hateable and ungrounded than in Mass Effect 3 (I think he’s very underwhelming as a villain and he should have been built up in Mass Effect 2 to be effective). But there were some neat moments, such as the description of the Afterlife by Grayson who considers it as tugging at his base instincts, compared to Leng’s description of it where everything is deemed disgusting. The execution is not the best, but the concept was fun.

Pre-Reaperification Paul Grayson wasn’t the worst point of view to follow. I wasn’t super involved in his journey and didn’t care when he died one way or the other, but I empathized with his problems and hoped he would find a way out of the cycle of violence. The setup of his character arc was interesting, it’s just sad that any resolution -even negative- was dropped to focus on Reapers and his relationship with Kahlee Sanders, as I think the latter was the least interesting part.

The cover is cool and intringuing. Very soapy. It’s my favorite out of all the official novels, as it owns the cheesier aspect of the series, has nice contrasts and immediately asks questions. Very 90s/2000s. It’s great.

You may notice every thing I enjoyed was coated in complaints, because it’s a reflection of my frustration at this book for setting up interesting ideas and then completely missing the mark in their execution. So without further due, let’s talk about what I think the book didn’t do right.

1. Dumb complaints that don’t matter much

After reading the entire book, I am still a bit confused at to why Tim (the Illusive Man’s acronym is TIM in fandom, but I find immense joy in reffering to him as just Tim) wants his experimentation to be carried out on Grayson specifically, especially when getting to him is harder than pretty much anyone else (also wouldn’t pushing the very first experiments on alien captives make more sense given it’s Cerberus we’re talking about?). It seem to be done out of petty revenge, which is fine, but it still feels like quite the overlook to mess with a competent fighter, enhance him, and then expect things to stay under control (which Tim kind of doesn’t expect to, and that’s even weirder -why waste your components on something you plan to terminate almost immediately). At the same time, the pettiness is the only characterization we get out of Tim so good I guess? But if so, I wished it would have been accentuated to seem even more deliberate (and not have Tim regret to see it in himself, which flattens him and doesn’t inform the way he views the world and himself -but we’ll get to that).

I really disliked the way space travel is characterized. And that might be entirely just me, and perhaps it doesn’t contradict the rest of the lore, but space travel is so fast. People pop up left and right in a matter of hours. At some point we even get a mention of someone being able to jump 3 different Mass Relays and then arrive somewhere in 4 hours. I thought you first had to discharge your ship around a stellar object before being able to engage in the next jump (and that imply finding said object, which would have to take more than an hour). It’s not that big of a deal, but it completely crammed this giant world to a single boulevard for me and my hard-science-loving tastes. Not a big deal, but not a fan at all of this choice.

You wouldn’t believe how often people find themselves in a fight naked or in their underwear. It happens at least 3 times (and everyone naked survives -except one, we’ll get to her later).

Why did I need to know about this fifteen year’s old boner for his older teacher. Surely there were other ways to have his crush come across without this detail, or then have it be an actual point of tension in their relationship and not just a “teehee” moment. Weird choice imo.

I’m not a fan of the Talons. I don’t find them interesting or compelling. There is nothing about them that informs us on the world they live in. The fact they’re turian-ruled don’t tell us anything about turian culture that, say, the Blue Suns don’t tell us already. It’s a generic gang that is powerful because it is. I think they’re very boring, in this book and in the Omega DLC alike (a liiittle less in the DLC because of Nyreen, barely). Not a real criticism, I just don’t care for them at all.

I might just be very ace, but I didn’t find Anderson and Kahlee Sanders to have much chemistry. Same for Kahlee and Grayson (yes we do have some sort of love-triangle-but-not-really, but it’s not very important and it didn’t bother me much). Their relationships were all underwhelming to me, and I’ll explain why in part 4.

The red sand highs are barely described, and very safely -probably not from a place of intimate knowledge with drugs nor from intense research. Addiction is a delicate topic, and I feel like it could have been dealt with better, or not be included at all.

There are more of these, but I don’t want to turn this into a list of minor complaints for things that are more a matter of taste than craft quality or thematic relevance. So let’s move on.

2. Who cares about aliens in a Mass Effect novel

Now we’re getting into actual problems, and this one is kind of endemic to the Mass Effect novels (I thought the same when I read Revelation 9 years ago, though maybe less so as Saren in a PoV character -but I might have forgotten so there’s that). The aliens are described and characterized in the most uncurious, uninspired manner. Krogans are intimidating brutes. Turians are rigid. Asaris are sexy. Elcors are boring. Batarians are thugs (there is something to be said with how Aria’s second in command is literally the same batarian respawned with a different name in Mass Effect 2, this book, then the Omega DLC). Salarians are weak nerds. (if you allow me this little parenthesis because of course I have to complain about salarian characterization: the only salarian that speaks in the book talks in a cheap ripoff of Mordin’s speech pattern, which sucks because it’s specific to Mordin and not salarians as a whole, and is there to be afraid of a threat as a joke. This is SUCH a trope in the original trilogy -especially past Mass Effect 1 when they kind of give up on salarians except for a few chosen ones-, that salarians’ fear is not to be taken seriously and the only salarians who are to be considered don’t express fear at all -see Mordin and Kirrahe. It happens at least once per game, often more. This is one of the reasons why the genophage subplot is allowed to be so morally simple in ME3 and remove salarians from the equation. I get why they did that, but it’s still somewhat of a copeout. On this front, I have to give props to Andromeda for actually engaging with violence on salarians in a serious manner. It’s a refreshing change) I didn’t learn a single thing about any of these species, how they work, what they care about in the course of these 79750 words. I also didn’t learn much about their relationships to other species, including humans. I’ll mention xenophobia in more details later, but this entire aspect of the story takes a huge hit because of this lack of investment of who these species are.

I’ve always find Mass Effect, despite its sprawling universe full of vivid ideas and unique perspectives, to be strangely enamoured with humans, and it has never been so apparent than here. Only humans get to have layers, deserving of empathy and actual engagement. Only their pain is real and important. Only their death deserve mourning (we’ll come back to that). I’d speculate this comes from the same place that was terrified to have Liara as a love interest in ME1 in case she alienated the audience, and then later was surprised when half the fanbase was more interested in banging the dinosaur-bird than their fellow humans: Mass Effect often seem afraid of losing us and breaking our capacity for self-projection. It’s a very weird concern, in my opinion, that reveals the most immature, uncertain and soapy parts of the franchise. Here it’s punched to eleven, and I find it disappointing. It also have a surprising effect on the narrative: again, we’ll come back to that.

3. The squandered potential of Liselle and Aria

Okay. This one hurts. Let’s talk about Liselle: she’s introduced in the story as a teammate to Grayson, who at the time works as a merc for Aria T’loak on Omega, and also sleeps with him on the regular. She likes hitting the Afterlife’s dancefloor: she’s very admired there, as she’s described as extremely attractive. One night after receiving a call from Grayson, she rejoins him in his apartment. They have sex, then Kai Leng and other Cerberus agents barge in to capture Grayson -a fight break out (the first in a long tradition of naked/underwear fights), and both of them are stunned with tranquilizers. Grayson is to be taken to the Illusive Man. Kai Leng decides to slit Liselle’s throat as she lays unconscious to cover their tracks. When Aria T’loak and her team find her naked on a bed, throat gaping and covered in blood, Liselle is revealed, through her internal monologue, to be Aria’s secret daughter -that she kept secret for both of their safety. So Liselle is a sexpot who dies immediately in a very brutal and disempowered manner. This is a sad way to handle Aria T’loak’s daughter I think, but I assume it was done to give a strong motivation to the mother, who thinks Grayson did it. And also, it’s a cool setup to explore her psyche: how does she feel about business catching up with her in such a personal manner, how does she feel about the fact she couldn’t protect her own offspring despite all her power, what’s her relationship with loss and death, how does she slip when under high emotional stress, how does she deal with such a vulnerable position of having to cope without being able to show any sign of weakness... But the book does nothing with that. The most interesting we get is her complete absence of outward reaction when she sees her daughter as the centerpiece of a crime scene. Otherwise we have mentions that she’s not used to lose relatives, vague discomfort when someone mentions Liselle might have been raped, and vague discomfort at her body in display for everyone to gawk at. It’s not exactly revelatory behavior, and the missed potential is borderline criminal. It also doesn’t even justify itself as a strong motivation, as Aria vaguely tries to find Grayson again and then gives up until we give her intel on a silver platter. Then it almost feels as if she forgot her motivation for killing Grayson, and is as motivated by money than she is by her daughter’s murder (and that could be interesting too, but it’s not done in a deliberate way and therefore it seems more like a lack of characterization than anything else).

Now, to Aria. Because this book made me realize something I strongly dislike: the framing might constantly posture her as intelligent, but Aria T’loak is... kind of dumb, actually? In this book alone she’s misled, misinformed or tricked three different times. We’re constantly ensured she’s an amazing people reader but never once do we see this ability work in her favor -everyone fools her all the time. She doesn’t learn from her mistakes and jump from Cerberus trap to Cerberus trap, and her loosing Omega to them later is laughably stupid after the bullshit Tim put her through in this book alone. I’m not joking when I say the book has to pull out an entire paragraph on how it’s easier to lie to smart people to justify her complete dumbassery during her first negotiation with Tim. She doesn’t seem to know anything about how people work that could justify her power. She’s not politically savvy. She’s not good at manipulation. She’s just already established and very, very good at kicking ass. And I wouldn’t mind if Aria was just a brutish thug who maintains her power through violence and nothing else, that could also be interesting to have an asari act that way. But the narrative will not bow to the reality they have created for her, and keep pretending her flaw is in extreme pride only. This makes me think of the treatment of Sansa Stark in the latest seasons of Game of Thrones -the story and everyone in it is persuaded she’s a political mastermind, and in the exact same way I would adore for it to be true, but it’s just... not. It’s even worse for Aria, because Sansa does have victories by virtue of everyone being magically dumber than her whenever convenient. Aria just fails, again and again, and nobody seem to ever acknowledge it. Sadly her writing here completely justifies her writing in the Omega DLC and the comics, which I completely loathe; but turns out Aria isn’t smart or savvy, not even in posture or as a façade. She’s just violent, entitled, easily fooled, and throws public tantrums when things don’t go her way. And again, I guess that would be fine if only the narrative would recognize what she is. Me, I will gently ignore most of this (in her presentation at least, because I think it’s interesting to have something pitiful when you dig a little) and try to write her with a bit more elevation. But this was a very disappointing realization to have.

4. The squandered potential of Grayson and the Reapers

The waste of a subplot with Aria and Liselle might have hurt me more in a personal way, but what went down between Grayson and the Reapers hurts the entire series in a startling manner. And it’s so infuriating because the potential was there. Every setpiece was available to create something truly unique and disturbing by simply following the series’ own established lore. But this is not what happens. See, when The Illusive Man, our dearest Tim, captures Grayson for a betrayal that happened last book (something about his biotic autistic daughter -what’s the deal with autistic biotics being traumatized by Cerberus btw), he decides to use him as the key part of an experiment to understand how Reapers operate. So he forcefully implants the guy with Reaper technology (what they do exactly is unclear) to study his change into a husk and be prepared when Reapers come for humanity -it’s also compared to what happened with Saren when he “agreed” to be augmented by Sovereign. From there on, Grayson slowly turns into a husk. Doesn’t it sound fascinating, to be stuck in the mind of someone losing themselves to unknowable monsters? If you agree with me then I’m sorry because the execution is certainly... not that. The way the author chooses to describe the event is to use the trope of mind control used in media like Get Out: Grayson taking the backseat of his own mind and body. And I haaaaate it. I hate it so much. I don’t hate the trope itself (it can be interesting in other media, like Get Out!), but I loathe that it’s used here in a way that totally contradicts both the lore and basic biology. Grayson doesn’t find himself manipulated. He doesn’t find himself justifying increasingly jarring actions the way Saren has. He just... loses control of himself, disagreeing with what’s being done with him but not able to change much about it. He also can fight back and regain control sometimes -but his thoughts are almost untainted by Reaper influence. The technology is supposed to literally replace and reorganize the cells of his body; is this implying that body and mind are separated, that there maybe exists a soul that transcends indoctrination? I don’t know but I hate it. This also implies that every victim of the Reaper is secretely aware of what they’re doing and pained and disagreeing with their own actions. And I’m sorry but if it’s true, I think this sucks ass and removes one of the creepiest ideas of the Mass Effect universe -that identity can and will be lost, and that Reapers do not care about devouring individuality and reshaping it to the whims of their inexorable march. Keeping a clear stream of consciousness in the victim’s body makes it feel like a curse and not like a disease. None of the victims are truly gone that way, and it removes so much of the tragic powerlessness of organics in their fight against the machines. Imagine if Saren watched himself be a meanie and being like “nooo” from within until he had a chance to kill himself in a near-victorious battle, compared to him being completely persuaded he’s acting for the good of organic life until, for a split second, he comes to realize he doesn’t make any sense and is loosing his mind like someone with dementia would, and needs to grasp to this instant to make the last possible thing he could do to save others and his own mind from domination. I feel so little things for Saren in the former case, and so much for the latter. But it might just be me: I’m deeply touched by the exploration of how environment and things like medication can change someone’s behavior, it’s such a painfully human subject while forceful mind control is... just kind of cheap.

SPEAKING OF THE REAPERS. Did you know “The Reapers” as an entity is an actual character in this book? Because it is. And “The Reapers” is not a good character. During the introduction of Grayson and explaining his troubles, we get presented with the mean little voice in his head. It’s his thoughts in italics, nothing crazy, in fact it’s a little bit of a copeout from actually implementing his insecurities into the prose. But I gave the author the benefit of the doubt, as I knew Grayson would be indoctrinated later, and I fully expected the little voice to slowly start twisting into what the Reapers suggested to him. This doesn’t happen, or at least not in that slowburn sort of way. Instead the little voice is dropped almost immediately, and the Reapers are described, as a presence. And as the infection progresses, what Grayson do become what the Reapers do. The Reapers have emotions, it turns out. They’re disgusted at organic discharges. They’re pleased when Grayson accomplish what they want, and it’s told as such. They foment little plans to get their puppet to point A to point B, and we are privy to their calculations. And I’m sorry but the best way to ruin your lovecraftian concept is to try and explain its motivations and how it thinks. Because by definition the unknown is scarier, smarter, and colder than whatever a human author could come up with. I couldn’t take the Reapers’ dumb infiltration plans seriously, and now I think they are dumb all the time, and I didn’t want to!! The only cases in which the Reapers influence Grayson, we are told in very explicit details how so. For example, they won’t let Grayson commit suicide by flooding his brain with hope and determination when he tries, or they will change the words he types when he tries to send a message to Kahlee Sanders. And we are told exactly what they do every time. There was a glorious occasion to flex as a writer by diving deep into an unreliable narrator and write incredibly creepy prose, but I guess we could have been confused, and apparently that’s not allowed. And all of this is handled that poorly becauuuuuse...

5. Subtext is dead and Drew killed it

Now we need to talk about the prose. The style of the author is... let’s be generous and call it functional. It’s about clarity. The writing is so involved in its quest for clarity that it basically ruins the book, and most of the previous issues are direct consequences of the prose and adjacent decisions.The direct prose issues are puzzling, as they are known as rookie technical flaws and not something I would expect from the series’ Lead Writer for Mass Effect 1 and 2, but in this book we find problems such as:

The reliance on adverbs. Example: "Breathing heavily from the exertion, he stood up slowly”. I have nothing about a well-placed adverb that gives a verb a revelatory twist, but these could be replaced by stronger verbs, or cut altogether.

Filtering. Example: “Anderson knew that the fact they were getting no response was a bad sign”. This example is particularly egregious, but characters know things, feel things, realize things (boy do they realize things)... And this pulls us away from their internal world instead of making us live what they live, expliciting what should be implicit. For example, consider the alternative: “They were getting no reponse, which was a bad sign in Anderson’s experience.” We don’t really need the “in Anderson’s experience” either, but that already brings us significantly closer to his world, his lived experience as a soldier.

The goddamn dialogue tags. This one is the worst offender of the bunch. Nobody is allowed to talk without a dialogue tag in this book, and wow do people imply, admit, inform, remark and every other verb under the sun. Consider this example, which made me lose my mind a little: “What are you talking about? Kahlee wanted to know.” I couldn’t find it again, but I’m fairly certain I read a “What is it?” Anderson wanted to know. as well. Not only is it very distracting, it’s also yet another way to remove reader interpretation from the equation (also sometimes there will be a paragraph break inside a monologue -not even a long one-, and that doesn’t seem to be justified by anything? It’s not as big of a problem than the aversion to subtext, but it still confused me more than once)

Another writing choice that hurts the book in disproportionate ways is the reliance on point of view switches. In Retribution, we get the point of view of: Tim, Paul Grayson, Kai Leng, Kahlee Sanders, David Anderson, Aria T’loak, and Nick (a biotic teenager, the one with the boner). Maybe Sanak had a very small section too, but I couldn’t find it again so don’t take my word for it. That’s too many point of views for a plot-heavy 80k book in my opinion, but even besides that: the point of view switch several times in one single chapter. This is done in the most harmful way possible for tension: characters involved in the same scene take turns on the page explaining their perspective about the events, in a way that leaves the reader entirely aware of every stake to every character and every information that would be relevant in a scene. Take for example the first negotiation between Aria and Tim. The second Aria needs to ponder what her best move could possibly be, we get thrown back into Tim’s perspective explaining the exact ways in which he’s trying to deceive her -removing our agency to be either convinced or fooled alongside her. This results in a book that goes out of his way to keep us from engaging with its ideas and do any mental work on our own. Everything is laid out, bare and as overexplained as humanly possible. The format is also very repetitive: characters talk or do an action, and then we spend a paragraph explaining the exact mental reasoning for why they did what they did. There is nothing to interpret. No subtext at all whatsoever; and this contributes in casting a harsh light on the Mass Effect universe, cheapening it and overtly expliciting some of its worst ideas instead of leaving them politely blurred and for us to dress up in our minds. There is only one theme that remains subtextual in my opinion. And it’s not a pretty one.

6. Violence

So here’s the thing when you adapt a third person shooter into a novel: you created a violent world and now you will have to deal with death en-masse too (get it get it I’m so sorry). But while in videogames you can get away with thoughtless murder because it’s a gameplay mechanic and you’re not expected to philosophize on every splatter of blood, novels are all about internalization. Violent murder is by definition more uncomfortable in books, because we’re out of gamer conventions and now every death is actual when in games we just spawned more guys because we wanted that level to be a bit harder and on a subconscious level we know this and it makes it somewhat okay. I felt, in this book, a strange disconnect between the horrendous violence and the fact we’re expected to care about it like we would in a game: not much, or as a spectacle. Like in a game, we are expected to root for the safety of named characters the story indicated us we should be invested in. And because we’re in a book, this doesn’t feel like the objective truth of the universe spelled at us through user interface and quest logs, but the subjective worldview of the characters we’re following. And that makes them.... somewhat disturbing to follow.

I haven’t touched on Anderson and Kahlee Sanders much yet, but now I guess I have too, as they are the worst offenders of what is mentioned above. Kahlee cares about Grayson. She only cares about Grayson -and her students like the forementioned Nick, but mostly Grayson. Grayson is out there murdering people like it’s nobody’s business, but still, keeping Grayson alive is more important that people dying like flies around him. This is vaguely touched on, but not with the gravitas that I think was warranted. Also, Anderson goes with it. Because he cares about Kahlee. Anderson organizes a major political scandal between humans and turians because of Kahlee, because of Grayson. He convinces turians to risk a lot to bring Cerberus down, and I guess that could be understandable, but it’s mostly manipulation for the sake of Grayson’s survival: and a lot of turians die as a result. But not only turians: I was not comfortable with how casually the course of action to deal a huge blow to Cerberus and try to bring the organization down was to launch assault on stations and cover-ups for their organization. Not mass arrests: military assault. They came to arrest high operatives, maybe, but the grunts were okay to slaughter. This universe has a problem with systemic violence by the supposedly good guys in charge -and it’s always held up as the righteous and efficient way compared to these UGH boring politicians and these treaties and peace and such (amirite Anderson). And as the cadavers pile up, it starts to make our loveable protagonists... kind of self-centered assholes. Also: I think we might want to touch on who these cadavers tend to be, and get to my biggest point of discomfort with this novel.

Xenophobia is hard to write well, and I super sympathize with the attempts made and their inherent difficulty. This novel tries to evoke this theme in multiple ways: by virtue of having Cerberus’ heart and blade as point of view characters, we get a window into Tim and Kai Leng’s bigotry against aliens, and how this belief informs their actions. I wasn’t ever sold in their bigotry as it was shown to us. Tim evokes his scorn for whatever aliens do and how it’s inferior to humanity’s resilience -but it’s surface-level, not informed by deep and specific entranched beliefs on aliens motives and bodies, and how they are a threat on humanity according to them. The history of Mass Effect is rich with conflict and baggage between species, yet every expression of hatred is relegated to a vague “eww aliens” that doesn’t feed off systemically enforced beliefs but personal feelings of mistrust and disgust. I’ll take this example of Kai Leng, and his supposedly revulsion at the Afterlife as a peak example of alien decadence: he sees an asari in skimpy clothing, and deems her “whorish”. And this feels... off. Not because I don’t think Kai Leng would consider asaris whorish, but because this is supposed to represent Cerberus’ core beliefs: yet both him and Tim go on and on about how their goal is to uplift humanity, how no human is an enemy. But if that’s the case, then what makes Kai Leng call an Afterlife asari whorish and mean it in a way that’s meaningfully different from how he would consider a human sex worker in similar dispositions? Not that I don’t buy that Cerberus would have a very specific idea of what humans need to be to be considered worth preserving as good little ur-fascists, but this internal bias is never expressed in any way, and it makes the whole act feel hollow. Cerberus is not the only offender, though. Every time an alien expresses bias against humans in a way we’re meant to recognize as xenophobic, it reads the same way: as personal dislike and suspicion. As bullying. Which is such a small part of what bigotry encompasses. It’s so unspecific and divorced from their common history that it just never truly works in my opinion. You know what I thought worked, though? The golden trio of non-Cerberus human characters, and their attitude towards aliens. Grayson’s slight fetishism and suspicion of his attraction to Liselle, how bestial (in a cool, sexy way) he perceives the Afterlife to be. The way Anderson and Kahlee use turians for their own ends and do not spare a single thought towards those who died directly trying to protect them or Grayson immediately after the fact (they are more interested in Kahlee’s broken fingers and in kissing each other). How they feel disgust watching turians looting Cerberus soldiers, not because it’s disrespectful in general and the deaths are a inherent tragedy but because they are turians and the dead are humans. But it's not even really on them: the narration itself is engrossed by the suffering of humans, but aliens are relegated to setpieces in gore spectacles. Not even Grayson truly cares about the aliens the Reapers make him kill. Nobody does. Not even the aliens among each other: see, once again, Aria and Liselle, or Aria and Sanak. Nobody cares. At the very end of the story, Anderson comes to Kahlee and asks if she gives him permission to have Grayson’s body studied, the same way Cerberus planned to. It’s source of discomfort, but Kahlee gives in as it’s important, and probably what Grayson would have wanted, maybe? So yeah. In the end the only subtextual theme to find here (probably as an accident) is how the Alliance’s good guys are not that different from Cerberus it turns out. And I’m not sure how I feel about that.

7. Lore-approved books, or the art of shrinking an expanding universe

I’d like to open the conversation on a bigger topic: the very practice of game novelization, or IP-books. Because as much as I think Drew Karpyshyn’s final draft should not have ended up reading that amateur given the credits to his name, I really want to acknowledge the realities of this industry, and why the whole endeavor was perhaps doomed from the start regardless of Karpyshyn’s talent or wishes as an author.

The most jarring thing about this reading experience is as follows: I spent almost 80k words exploring this universe with new characters and side characters, all of them supposedly cool and interesting, and I learned nothing. I learned nothing new about the world, nothing new about the characters. Now that it’s over, I’m left wondering how I could chew on so much and gain so little. Maybe it’s just me, but more likely it’s by design. Not on poor Drew. Now that I did IP work myself, I have developed an acute sympathy for anyone who has to deal with the maddening contradictions of this type of business. Let me explain.

IP-adjacent media (in the West at least) sure has for goal to expand the universe: but expand as in bloat, not as in deepen. The target for this book is nerds like me, who liked the games and want more of this thing we liked. But then we’re confronted by two major competitors: the actual original media (in ME’s case, the games) whose this product is a marketing tool for, and fandom. IP books are not allowed to compete with the main media: the good ideas are for the main media, and any meaningful development has to be made in the main media (see: what happened with Kai Leng, or how everyone including me complains about the worldbuilding to the Disney Star Swars trilogy being hidden in the novelization). And when it comes to authorship (as in: taking an actual risk with the media and give it a personal spin), then we risk introducing ideas that complicate the main media even though a ridiculously small percent of the public will be attached to it, or ideas that fans despise. Of course we can’t have the latter. And once the fandom is huge enough, digging into anything the fans have strong headcanons for already risks creating a lot of emotions once some of these are made canon and some are disregarded. As much as I joke about how in Mass Effect you can learn about any gun in excrutiating details but we still don’t know if asaris have a concept for marriage... would we really want to know how/if asaris marry, or aren’t we glad we get to be creative and put our own spin on things? The dance between fandom and canon is a delicate one that can and will go wrong. And IP books are generally not worth the drama for the stakeholders.

Add this to insane deadlines, numerous parties all involved in some way and the usual struggles of book writing, and we get a situation where creating anything of value is pretty much a herculean task.

But then I ask... why do IP books *have* to be considered canon? I know this is part of the appeal, and that removing the “licenced” part only leaves us with published fanfiction, but... yeah. Yeah. I think it could be a fascinating model. Can you imagine having your IP and hiring X amount of distinctive authors to give it their own spin, not as definitive additions to the world but as creative endeavours and authorial deepdives? It would allow for these novels to be comparative and companion to the main media instead of being weird appendages that can never compare, and the structure would allow for these stories to be polished and edited to a higher level than most fanfictions. Of course I’m biased because I have a deep belief in the power of fanfiction as commentary and conversational piece. But I would really love to see companies’ approach to creative risk and canon to change. We might get Disney stuff until we die now, so the least we can ask for is for this content to be a little weird, personal and human.

That’s it. That’s the whole review. Thank you for reading, it was very long and weirdly passionate, have a nice dayyyyy.

#Mass Effect #mass effect retribution #me critical #writing #mass effect novels #anderson #kahlee sanders #Aria T'loak #paul grayson #liselle #salarians #IP conversation #omega #mass effect lore #reapers #book review

[friendship-ended-with-pokespe]

Kirby: Meta Knight and the Puppet Princess Chapter 3

“The number of cake shops in this Chiffon Star are 1,992, would you believe that! ...Erm, it increased by 427 this year, so it’s 2,419 in total!” Said a girl with a pretty face as she scowled at her notepad. “There’s way too many. No wonder this star is full of fat people with cavities!”

“I feel the same, oh kind hearted princess.” Back channeling was a tall gentleman with an elegant attire. He has a pointy mustache on his oval face, where his mouth smiles always. His eyes however were sharp like that of a cutlery. His cold look cannot be hidden even if he were to make an outward show. His name is Baron Gallic. He calls himself baron, but his true identity is unclear. He is an unlawful gentleman who wanders from star to star in stealing valuable treasures from others. The girl with him is the princess of this Chiffon Star, Princess Marona. She is fair-skinned and has large round eyes. The large ribbon on her head was a memento handed down from her late mother. She is a kindhearted girl fond of sweet desserts and cute things......but the look on her eyes right now was like that of a different person and had a scary face. The two are lurking in an isolated house at a boulevard somewhat distant from Chiffon Castle. It is a hideout arranged by Baron Gallic. Sitting on a large sofa, Baron Gallic said in a whispering voice. “King Merengue XIII intends to make all the citizens in this star get cavities. He is in league with the dentist, scheming to make a huge profit......” “Unforgivable!” Princess Marona puffed her cheek while pacing around the room. “I believed that my father was a splendid king. That he was a great man who continues to protect the traditional recipe that has been passed down on our Chiffon Star......but I was mistaken!” “It is as you say, oh wise princess.”

“A recipe filled with nothing but sweets......will only bring misfortune on everyone.” Princess Marona paused and looked at the book laid on the table. It is a large, thick, and old book. This was the king’s very recipe book that has been passed down since ages in the royal family. The princess was incited by the baron to take it from the Royal Cake Factory. “Although it’s the precious recipe book passed down since long ago......our star is riddled with cake shops because of this!” The princess’ face became increasingly stern. “Let’s burn this thing, Baron Gallic!” “No, that is of no use, oh righteous princess.” Saying that, Baron Gallic stood up. “The one to blame isn’t that book, but the king who is scheming to make a profit out of it. The recipe book has no fault.” “But......” “I shall hold on to that book. I wouldn’t misuse it unlike the king.” “......You’re right. I can have confidence if it’s you, Baron Gallic.” Nodded the princess, and inadvertently opened the recipe book. History of cakes for Chiffon Star written in detail in the front section of the book. Next, recipes with beautiful illustrations go on and on. As she flipped through the pages with knitted eyebrows, the princess’ hands suddenly stopped. “Ah, this is......” The princess gulped. Her rigid expression subsided in an instant. “The fruit cake set with plenty of berries and apples......! It’s the cake with our star’s specialty apples. The pride of the Royal Cake Factory. I ate it with my mother when I was young......mother loved this cake......” The princess’ voice suddenly seemed sad. Baron Gallic quickly laid his hands on the princess’ shoulder and turned around. The baron took out a jewel shining in red from the inside pocket in his jacket. It was a dazzling jewel as big as a cherry. It is glowing blazingly as though a flame is trapped within it. “Have a good look, oh princess. This beautiful Malice Stone will cleanse your stained heart.” Her eyes were glued to the red jewel. The princess’ expression changed in the blink of an eye. Filled with anger, the princess shouted. “It would’ve been great if I didn’t have to eat cakes like that every day when I was young! I actually don’t like cakes even a little bit!” “Exactly, oh modest princess. You were forced to eat cakes thanks to the king’s wicked plan.” “Dear me......!” Princess Marona looked at Baron Gallic with eyes full of anger. “My father isn’t fit to be the king. He should abdicate immediately!” “Precisely.” “The one worthy to sit on the throne is you, Baron Gallic.” Said Princess Marona, her eyes fixed on the baron. Muttering “Hoh......,” Barron Gallic smiled with his whole face. “My, my......I’m honored, oh beautiful princess. The throne......hmph, not bad.” Baron Gallic turned his back on the princess. The smile on that face of his was villainous to no end. Princess Marona said. “I must save the citizens without delay. I’ve got to destroy all the cakes; the cause of the cavities!” “......What?” “I will burn down all the cake shops on our Chiffon Star without leaving any! Let’s go, Baron Gallic!” Princess Marona hastily ran out of the room. Having been left behind, Baron Gallic shrugged his shoulders with a sarcastic look. “My word, and here I was thinking that she was only a docile princess. So the royal palace was merely sailing under false colors. She is terribly tomboyish.” The baron shifted his focus to the recipe book laid on the table. “There’s no point in accompanying the egotistic princess if this is in my hands, but......it’s a different story with the throne. That wench, she looks to be bent on making me the king.” The baron leaned back with a burst of laughter. “Me, the king!? This is getting interesting. Why, I’ll go along with the tomboy of a princess just a little more.” Baron Gallic left the room to go after Princess Marona.

Meanwhile, Meta Knight and the others were: Hearing from the people inside the palace to look for a lead on Princess Marona. “I can’t believe it. For Princess Marona to have done such a thing......” Talking with a gaunt look was the lady-in-waiting who served Princess Marona ever since she was born. Meta Knight said. “According to the king, her attitude seems to have abruptly changed recently.” “Yes, sir. Such a good-natured and filial princess has......become so coldhearted as if she’s a different person. Not only that, but she came to despise the cakes that she loved so much......” The waiting maid gently wiped her tears. “She poured inconsiderate words to even those working at the Royal Cake Factory. People in the country are all getting cavities and are in pain because of the cake that you lots make......is what she would say.” “Cavities?” “Yes. For some reason, Princess Marona is under the impression that His Kingship is making the citizen’s tooth decay on purpose and is scheming to make a huge profit.” “That’s strange.” Together with Meta Knight’s murmur, a high-pitched voice sounded in his back. “Strange, sweets~! This sweets isn’t strange, so it’s yummy~!”

Here, “sweets,” (Okashi/お菓子) “strange,” (Okashii/おかしい) and “delicious” (Oishii/おいしい) all sound similar.

“Gimme the cream puff and the shortcake over there next. Keep on bringing it one after another~!” Having them bring the cakes one after another, Kirby and King Dedede are eating them messily. Being short-handed with only those in charge of serving at the royal palace, even Waddle Dee ended up giving them a hand. The maid looked at the two with a worried look. “Say......Lord Meta knight. Pardon me, but......your friends have been eating a little too much for quite a while now......” “They’re not my friends. They’re cargos. Don’t mind them.” “......Beg your pardon, sir?” “More importantly, I would like for you to continue your piece. Merengue XIII should have worked out all sorts of plans in order to protect the citizens from cavities.” “Precisely. It is the king’s duty to protect the citizen’s well-being, where they shouldn’t only bake sweet desserts. That is His Majesty’s belief.” “I see......” “His Highness has established a legislation called the ‘Anticavity Law,’ and is teaching the citizens how to brush their teeth properly. He is proceeding with his research for those who still get cavities even then. Our dental technology is the finest in the universe.” “Yup. To be frank, my subordinate was beholden to you guys before.” Meta Knight looked back on Blade Knight, who was waiting behind him. Blade Knight said in embarrassment. “It’s about when I was suffering from my cavity. Hearing that Chiffon Star is the best in treating cavities, I rushed here.” “You were a sight to see at that time! Crying like a fowl from something like a cavity.” Laughed Sword Knight, where Blade Knight leaped to his feet and lost his temper. “What!? Quit exaggerating! I don’t cry!”

“No, you did. Weren’t you rolling around, crying how it hurts so much?” “S-Shut up! You’ll know it too if you had cavities. That pain is unimaginably......!” “-In any case,” Meta Knight came back to the subject. “I was much obliged to Merengue XIII at that time.” “Even His Highness would be cordial If the request is from the renowned Lord Meta Knight.” “The birth of the excellent technology was thanks to the king committing himself to cavity research for many years. I felt grateful and respected the king, where I was sure of hurrying myself to his birthday party, but......” “So long as the princess doesn’t return, that party will most likely be suspended......” Tears gathered in the maid’s eyes. “I want you to tell me about the man that incited the princess.” Said Meta Knight. “Incited......?” “Aye. A man named Baron Gallic appears to have kidnapped the princess......” Hearing that name, her face suddenly stiffened. “My, what on earth are you talking about!? This isn’t Baron Gallic’s fault!” “......What did you say?” “Lord baron is a very fine person. He is very sophisticated, good-hearted, and kind......” The lady's maid raptly put her hands together. Sword Knight and Blade Knight quickly looked at Meta Knight. Meta Knight gestured at his men to stay quiet. Without noticing them, the maid continued with a giddy voice. “Lord baron has opened my eyes!” “......What do you mean?” “I have severed all relations with my wicked-hearted younger sister.” The maid’s countenance changed all of a sudden. Her affectionate face reddened and her look became rigid. With a mean-spirited smile, the maidservant continued. “My sister was apprenticing to be a lady attendant at this palace. While pretending to help me, she was actually looking for an opportunity to knock me down!” “......” “She was trying to snatch the spot for the princess’ official lady-in-waiting by using me as a stepping stone! What a sly chick, isn’t she!? Sheesh, I doted on her without noticing anything. But lord baron has informed me of her true colors!” “......” Meta Knight stared at the maid in silence. His eyes glared, concealed deep within his mask. Sword Knight and Blade Knight also hung their heads in pity. In the same way, the pair too were once manipulated by the baron, where their hatred grew to oppose Meta Knight. The maid worked herself up and continued. “I told her clearly! That we’re through, and I don’t want to meet you ever again! I had her to quit apprenticing to be a waiting maid and drove her out of the palace!” “Enough of you!” Meta Knight’s voice became rough all of a sudden. The waiting maid drew her body back in surprise. Meta Knight calmed his voice and continued. “Is your sister really that amoral? I remember the days when you got along well with her.” “Got along well......with her......that was only me being deceived by her......” “Think back to it well.” Hearing his solemn words, the waiting maid placed her hands on her breast in bewilderment. “My sister and I......got along well......ever since we were kids......but......that was......her lying......to use me......” The maid feebly hung her head. “No, that’s wrong. That child doesn’t lie. She’s kinder and more honest than anyone......” “......”  “What have I done? Why did I distrust my sister......that’s odd......why on earth did I tell her that we’re through!?” The maid gasped and clutched her head in confusion. “It looks like you also fell into his trap.” Said Meta Knight. “Trap......?” “Gallic manipulates the heart of people. He separates your close ones and sows hatred.” “......That couldn’t be......!” The maid turned pale. “Why does he do that?” “No reason. He only sneers at others, seeing them hating each other and losing their kind heartedness. That is his amusement.” His voice was calm, but beneath it, intense rage was welling up in him. “The princess too has fallen into the same trap. That’s why she came to detest the king and cakes.” “Oh my goodness! The poor princess!” The waiting maid was wide-eyed in disbelief. “That’s so frightening, to manipulate the heart of others......just how did the baron manipulate me and the princess’ heart......?” “Don’t you remember anything? What did the baron do when he instilled hatred in your heart? What were his words?” “......” The maid pondered, but gave up and shook her head. “I can’t remember. My head gets all foggy when I try to think about it......” “It was the same for us, sir.” Blade Knight whispered to him. “When we try to remember it, our heads become hazy and we end up in a daze.” Meta Knight nodded. “Not only does he control the hearts of people, but he also swipes their memories. He is a tough foe.” Putting both her hands together, the maid looked at Meta Knight as if in a prayer. “Lord Meta Knight, please save Princess Marona!” “Aye, I will.” Meta Knight nodded. “Do you have any idea of where she would show up? Like the princess’ favorite place or somewhere she remembers.” “Right. For the princess’ favorite cake shop, it’s the one on Vanilla St. east to the royal palace......” “We might be able to obtain some lead there. We’ll head there.”  “Yes, sir!” Meta Knight said to his two men who agreed. “You guys don’t need to come.” “Huh? But, my lord......” “This is enough with me alone. You guys continue gathering information. Head to the location quickly if there is any news.” “......Yessir!” Agreed the two, filled with determination. Right when Meta Knight was about to turn his cape, the waiting maid said nervously. “......Erm......Lord Meta Knight, I have just one thing to ask......” “What.” “Can’t you do something about your two friends......no, the two cargos? All the foods in the royal palace will be eaten up at this rate.“ Her concerns were reasonable. This star was like paradise for Kirby and Dedede. Paying no heed to Meta Knight and the rest’s conversation, they are devouring whatever cakes and other sweets brought out from the Royal Cake Factory. “Gimme more~! Next up, I want some eclair and chocolate cake!” “I want some more cream puff! It ain’t enough with a tiny plate like this. Bring it to me in buckets, an extra-large bucket!” “I’ve had it with you all!”

Meta Knight roared at the two. “Go home right now if you aren’t going to cooperate in rescuing the princess! I’ll send you all back to Dream Land with my Halberd!” “H-Hold on, Meta Knight. We were thinking about Princess Marona.” “He’s right. We were examining the cakes’ taste to deduce the suspect’s action!” “......I don’t get it. Anyhow, come with me!” It would be more comfortable to proceed with the investigation alone rather than bringing the pair, but they will cause more and more trouble for the royal palace if left alone. Grabbing the hands of Kirby and Dedede, who were still reluctant to give up cakes, Meta Knight pulled them away from the table.

Previous chapter

Next chapter

Table of contents

#kirby novels #kirby of the stars #light novel #translation #meta knight #kirby #waddle dee #king dedede #sword knight #blade knight